


the rarer action is

by clarityhiding



Series: The Tempest of Team RedBird [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman Eternal (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Embedded Images, Gen, New 52
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-14 15:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: "Hey, wait a sec. Does this have anything to do with that subnet surveillance network you had me set up for you a couple of months back?" Lonnie wants to know. "O, I swear she said that was just a suburbs thing.""No worries," Oracle reassures him. "Spoiler, is this actually going anywhere?"Stephanie gulps, forces herself to answer as she writes the final name on the list. "Yeah."There's an outcry from Flying Fox when Stephanie steps back so everyone can see. "Bruce Wayne?! He's not in on this, trust me.""That's who I saw," Stephanie grits out.(Pru-as-Oracle and herband of merry menfriends tackle the events ofBatman Eternal. Team-ups and snark abound!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is so long, I've broken it up into chapters for the sake of convenience. However, like _as strange a maze_ , it's an "enhanced" fic with images that make up part of the story but which won't be included if you use AO3's Download function. That said, if anyone wants an e-reader compatible version with all the bells and whistles, leave a comment and I'll rustle something up (seriously, it used to be my job, I'm an old hand at ePub, et al.).
> 
> The text of Cluemaster's invitation is copied directly from BE, I was too lazy to write a new one.
> 
> This is un-beta'd! And I had some formatting issues when working on it; I think I fixed them all, but I may have missed some returns/added returns where they didn't belong. If _anything_ looks wrong—typo, wonky format, grammar error—let me know! I tried to catch them all before posting, but I probably missed some.

_**Two Weeks Ago.** _

"—so we'll be keeping an eye on him for the next few weeks while we figure out if the threat's real," Oracle concludes, sweeping her gaze across the room. "Any questions? No? Alright, we'll be taking this in shifts, so—"

Oracle never waits for anyone to ask questions, so Stephanie doesn't think anything of walking right in front of her, ignoring Oracle completely as Stephanie starts messing with the computer. Stephanie's back is to the room, but she can practically feel the woman's glare burning into her when Oracle breaks off mid-sentence. "Spoiler? Something you want to share?"

Stephanie doesn't say anything. Just gets finds the dossier she wants, takes a deep breath, and. Throws it up on the screen for all to see. She's still holding her breath when she spins on her heel, nervously glancing at the rest of the team.

"Spoiler. Are you sure—" Oracle begins to say. Stops. Shakes her head. "Your grave, kid."

With a shaky nod, Stephanie finally lets out the breath she was holding. She can do this. Has been doing it for nearly a week now. This is nothing. Yes.

Time to get this show on the road.

"Let me introduce you to Cluemaster. Former game show host, mediocre Riddler knock-off, overall a small-time thief with a narcissistic streak. His schtick was he figured he was so much smarter than everyone else that he could give the cops clues to his crimes and they'd never figure it out." Nervous as she is, Stephanie keeps her back to the screen. She can't look at the photo of him as she says this, can't bear the disappointment she knows she'd see in those eyes.

"Mostly dormant for the past few years after the Batman gave him a bad scare. However, based on careful study of the invitation Oracle received—printer-specific ink flaws—I feel I can safely say that Cluemaster is responsible for both the invite and its distribution."

"How can you know that? Oracle only just got it yesterday, and hers was an e-vite submitted through a proxy on a relatively high-traffic site." Bluebird cocks her hip and lifts an eyebrow, skepticism obvious in both her voice and stance. Hardly a surprise; Stephanie knows Bluebird doesn't think much of her, thinks Spoiler is a blonde bubblehead who's just playing at being a hero. Doesn't think Spoiler's _personally invested_ enough in fixing up Gotham.

"I'll get there eventually," Stephanie promises, stepping away from the computer and over to the whiteboard. She erases the list of proposed team names that's been taking up half the board for the past month and a half to clear some space, then starts writing. "Here's a list of current associates. All of these criminals have been seen meeting with Cluemaster in person. At this time, it's not clear whether they're aware that he's the ringleader of the entire operation, not just their small part of it." 

"Hey, wait a sec. Does this have anything to do with that subnet surveillance network you had me set up for you a couple of months back?" Lonnie wants to know. "O, I swear she said that was a suburbs thing, that it didn't have anything to do with Gotham-proper. Honest."

"No worries," Oracle reassures him. "Spoiler, is this actually going anywhere?"

Still at the board, Stephanie gulps. Forces herself to answer. "Yeah, I just. I have this whole thing planned out, let me just—?" Only one more name to go, and she hesitates before adding that final name, still not entirely sure of her identification of that particular individual (it was dark, she was scared silly, and then there was so much chaos, after), but. He was there.

Stephanie writes the name.

There's an outcry from Flying Fox almost as soon as Stephanie steps back so everyone can see. "Bruce Wayne?! He's not in on this, trust me."

"That's who I saw," Stephanie grits out. She knew there'd be resistance on this point but she didn't expect such conviction.

Bluebird shoots Flying Fox a curious look, corners of her mouth turning down. "It doesn't fit his MO, blondie."

"Wayne is close friend of the commissioner," Oracle observes, stepping up to the board and taking the marker from Stephanie. "Unless he's suffered a complete change in personality or is mind-controlled, whoever you saw wasn't him." She uncaps the marker and draws a line through Wayne's name, crossing it off the list. "On that note, it's possible you saw someone impersonating Wayne. It's happened in the past." Beside Stephanie's original list, Oracle scribbles a second list of names, starting with the obvious (Clayface) and getting more and more obscure as she goes. "Before we jump to conclusions about Wayne, we should look into all of these."

Well. That's... reassuring? Stephanie had considered a double back when she first had a moment to sit down and think about it, but the only one she could think of was Clayface, and Clayface just doesn't have the chops to plan something this elaborate, let alone pull the strings of someone like Cluemaster. One of these new names, on the other hand...

"Okay, well. Good to know. Maybe Wayne and his Bat-lackies aren't in on this after all," Stephanie allows, feeling a little cheered by the news. "Anyway. Going back to Bluebird's question, I know all this because I've been spying Cluemaster for months—listening in on his stupid basement meetings, watching from the rafters, all that good stuff. I know Cluemaster's responsible for the invite because I saw him type it up and print it out on his crummy $50 inkjet that always smears the right edge of whatever it prints." Stupid printer with its stupid quirks that Stephanie's teachers have been complaining about for years.

"I know this is Cluemaster's last big play, that he's thrown everything in and won't be willing to fall back or compromise because he's burned all his bridges and he can't turn back now," Stephanie says in a rush, heart racing from a strange combination of anticipation, excitement, and fear. She tugs at her hood, trying to pace herself, to slow down, but she can't, she's fallen over the edge and she's tumbling now, picking up speed and unable to stop.

"I know that he's had a vicious, horrible hate for Batman for years now, ever since the Bat caught him and let him go after deciding he was too small a fish to fry. I know that Cluemaster is probably doing this, all of this, not for money or wealth or power, but probably because he wants to hurt Batman, and the one thing everyone knows is that Batman loves this city." That was the part that hadn't made sense, before, with Wayne as a suspect. Now, though. Now everything's slotting into place, all the clues are coming clear.

"And I know all of this because I've lived with Cluemaster—Arthur Brown—for sixteen years. Up until last week, when I fucked up and fell into his secret meeting and now he's trying to kill me." Taking a deep breath, she shoves back her hood, tugs off her mask. "Hi," she says. "My name's Stephanie. Cluemaster's my dad."

* * *

> `Posted at 01:42 by user ORACLE`
> 
> `Hey, twits. Stop asking for Stephanie Brown's location. I don't even want to know why the lot of you keep thinking I'm going to help you kill kids, but this is getting ridiculous. You want dirt on your enemies, your allies, everyone in between--fine by me. But I'm not about to sell out some kid, no matter how much I stand to make off the deal.`
> 
> `Actually, you know what? STOP PUTTING BOUNTIES ON YOUR DAMNED KIDS. Boohoo, they aren't following in your footsteps--maybe if you weren't all such shite parents they wouldn't keep trying to ruin your plans. Either way, suck it up and stop paying other people to take care of your mistakes for you. You made this bed, you can bloody well lie in it.`

  


* * *

_**Now.** _

The man is waving a gun, refuses to let it go no matter how many times Jim orders him to. "Last warning," Jim growls, "drop it."

"Commissioner?"

The voice is light, nervous. Young. Coming from somewhere behind Jim. He didn't even realize anyone else was down here.

"Commissioner, he's unarmed," the voice says, and a figure steps into Jim's line-of-sight.

Jim's first thought is that it's Batgirl—he sees the Bat, the bosom, it's a logical leap. But the colors are all wrong—purple and gold, yes, but also blue and peach and lilac. And the helmet... he's pretty sure Batgirl doesn't wear a helmet.

"Sir, I don't know what you're seeing, but you're the only one with a gun," the woman says. "There's something wrong here, something big. You should leave."

Leave. Yes, he should leave—the rumble in the ground, the lights fast-approaching in the dark tunnel—they should _all_ leave. "Who—?" Jim starts to ask, but he doesn't get a chance to get any further than that because an arm snakes around his waist, yanking him backwards, away from the false Batgirl, the perp behind her. A familiar arm, grey and black and solid.

"Are you alright?" Batman shouts over the roar of the approaching trains. "Jim?"

"Who was that?" Jim asks when he's finally recovered enough to reply. He feels... vague. Like he's waking from a particularly intense dream.

"No idea, didn't get a good look at him before we split up. He got away?" Batman gives him a questioning look and it takes Jim a moment to realize Batman thinks Jim's asking about the perp.

"Oh. I—I suppose. Unless your person got him."

Batman frowns. "My person?"

"Batgirl?" Jim grimaces, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Shakes his head, trying to clear it. "Your lot changes costumes every other week, I can't keep you all straight." Batman says something else, but Jim doesn't hear it. He's too busy thinking about what happened, out on the tracks. About the (unarmed?) suspect he nearly shot. About what might have happened if Batman hadn't swooped in and pulled him out before the trains came. If he'd shot at the suspect and missed, hit something else—a bystander, the Batgirl. The brightly-colored electrical box on the opposite wall.

A shiver runs down Jim's spine, and he nervously pats his pockets, searching for the pack of cigarettes that isn't there. He can't shake the feeling that he's narrowly avoided something disastrous.

* * *

When Tim tries to probe Oracle for more in-depth knowledge on whatever Professor Pyg did to the kids during his attack on the aviation museum, she's oddly reticent. Odd not because of her refusal to provide information—Oracle rarely offers up anything on request—but rather because Tim would have thought she'd be open to sharing whatever she has by virtue of her previously voiced dislike of mind control.

"All the kids that haven't recovered from Pyg's attack are from the Narrows," Tim says, hoping to pique her interest and tempt her into dropping a hint.

_"So go check out the Narrows. You're a big boy, you don't need my help with this."_ Oracle's voice is incapable of showing emotion by virtue of its digital nature, but Tim could swear that sometimes he can hear the peevishness behind her words when she's particularly annoyed with him. Something that seems to be happening with more and more frequency of late, now that Tim takes the time to consider it.

"Hey," he says cautiously. "Is something wrong? Anything you might want _my_ help with?" He still has no idea who she is (hasn't even really tried to figure it out, if he's honest with himself), but she's helped him enough times in the past that he doesn't mind returning the favor, within reason.

_"I have it under control. I'm handling it."_

Tim's a little surprised that she's willing to admit to being involved in anything. Usually Oracle prefers to remain vague and aloof about her business. She must be getting pretty stressed out to slip up like this. "If you're sure."

There's a squeal of feedback from the speaker—Oracle's idea of laugh, Tim thinks. _"Trust me, Red,"_ she says. _"If I need help, you'll know."_

* * *

_Found in a Gotham warehouse owned by the Noh-Jay Consortium._  


* * *

Oracle has a point—Tim's been doing this for years, he's perfectly capable of investigating Pyg's machinations on his own. He's gotten spoiled in recent months, working with partners, with teams. He doesn't need someone to hold his hand now anymore than he did back before he ever threw his lot in with Batman (yeah, because he did _so well_ with Cobblepot). Tim puts on his suit and sets off for the Narrows. If there's an environmental factor to whatever's afflicting Pyg's victims, Tim's not going to find it moping around the Nest, poking at holographic patients.

(Tim's not _afraid_ of villains who mess with mind control, he's just... cautious after everything with Trigon.)

He's just here for recon—this is strictly an information-gathering mission. With seven kids in comas, Tim doesn't have the time to engage in any brawls; people are depending on him.

So of course he somehow stumbles upon an unknown mask, Vicki Vale, and any number of other civilians being attacked by a nanotech tentacle that looks like an escapee from a sci-fi hentai. Tim _would_ call it in to the Cave and let someone else deal with it—the Narrows aren't his territory and Tim's still not clear on how Batman feels about Red Robin actively operating in Gotham right now—but considering how the tentacle looks to be sprouting from yet another kid from the Narrows, he's going to go out on a limb here and guess that this may be related to whatever's affecting Pyg's victims.

Now that he's identified the nanobot swarm, it isn't hard to hack the system so he can push the metaphorical red button and put the swarm in sleep mode. That takes care of the tentacles, but unfortunately also leaves one of his bystanders in the same condition as the other kids in this case—that is to say, a coma.

The unknown mask shoots Tim a look of disgust as she ushers Vicki out of the room.

"What?" Tim demands. This night has been topsy-turvy enough already, thanks, between Batman's awkward praise, Pyg's ranting, and Oracle's refusal to even play at being a vaguely unhelpful troll. It figures that the victims would decide to blame him for _strictly_ coincidental tentacles. "What'd I do?"

"Should have known you'd be a posterchild for Nice Job Breaking It, Hero," the mask says, having apparently sent Vicki and the other civilians on their merry ways. The mask kneels beside the comatose boy, making small, unhappy noises.

Tim shifts uncomfortably. "This is hardly the same thing as unwittingly helping the big bad," he says, because accidental casualties fall under a completely different trope, mostly. "Pretty sure the tentacle only showed up because you were slinging around that taser-gun. Who _are_ you?"

Because the more Tim thinks about it, the more he can't figure this mask out. Young, female, but armed with seriously sweet firepower and rocking a uniform that looks pretty polished and professional for an unknown. Last Tim checked, Red Hood was the only vigilante laying claim to the Narrows, and these days Jason's only in town every other month.

"None of your beeswax. Do you have a Birdmobile or something? He needs to go to the hospital, I can't wake him up." There's a grim sort of seriousness on the woman's face, and Tim swallows back an awkward lump that threatens to form in his throat. He recognizes that look. Not so much from his own experience, but Dick—

"Hospital can't do much for him, but I might be able to help, if you let me. Your brother, right?"

The mask stiffens the slightest amount; if Tim wasn't watching so carefully, he would have missed it. "I don't even—"

A quick query on his suit's computer brings up the relevant information. "Cullen Row. That would make you Harper. Which is pretty obvious, what with the hair." He angles his arm so she can see the surveillance recording from the hall outside on the holographic screen.

Harper glares even harder. "Right now I'm Bluebird," she snaps.

Fair enough. "Red Robin," Tim says, closing the screen and holding out a hand.

Bluebird ignores the hand. "I know who _you_ are. _Everyone_ knows who you are." She sighs and stands. "Fine. You can take him, but only if I get to come with. Let me just text a neighbor come deal with all of... this." She gestures to the mess of the apartment, the front door hanging crookedly on its remaining hinge.

Tim _would_ argue, but he's curious about Bluebird and he'd really like to get a better look at her taser-gun. He occupies himself with checking Cullen's vitals while Bluebird paces what remains of the the small living room, texting furiously.

"Alright," she says abruptly, "ready to roll. Now, to repeat my earlier question—do you have some kind of Birdmobile? Because there is no way I'm letting you carry Cullen across the city to your super-secret hideout via grapple gun. That's just asking for tragedy."

* * *

> `Bluebird: Ok, don't freak but I might've just strongarmed Red Robin into taking me to his secret birdlair.`
> 
> `Oracle: ...`
> 
> `Bluebird: Moneyspider's agreed to take my shift tonight, it's all cool.`
> 
> `Oracle: Why are you even talking to Red Robin?`
> 
> `Bluebird: Well y'know all those kids who Prof. Pyg put in comas?`
> 
> `Bluebird: Turns out it's nanobots and now the little bro's got a bad case of 'em. RR gave him a sleep command and he zonked out, won't wake up.`
> 
> `Bluebird: I don't trust RR not to make his screw-up worse, so I'ma gonna keep an eye on him until Cullen's ok.`
> 
> `Oracle: Not happy about this. Red's a Bat.`
> 
> `Bluebird: Yeah, but he's one of us too, right? I know he's how you hooked Moneyspider into joining the club.`
> 
> `Oracle: It's... complicated.`
> 
> `Oracle: Let me get back to you. Need to set some stuff up, figure things out.`
> 
> `Bluebird: Gotcha. Give me a ping if you want me to kick this idiot's ass.`
> 
> `Oracle: Ugh, don't even tempt me.`

  



	2. Chapter 2

He isn't sure how long the kid's been sitting there, but it can't be more than an hour. Jim's fairly certain he would have noticed the kid if he'd been there when Jim first came through the door. After all this time with Batman and lord only knows how many Robins, it's no great feat to keep his surprise internal.

"You're new. Batman finally decide to branch out and try boys who don't have black hair?" Not that Jim really thinks this is one of the Bat's crowd—the kid's costume consists of a hoodie, jeans, and a domino mask. Usually Batman demands a certain amount of body armor.

The boy glances up from a sleek little laptop to grimace at him. "I'm not a _Robin_. Not everyone in this city follows the Batman, y'know."

Jim does know. There was Black Canary and her brood of Birds for a while there, after all. Plus, he's pretty sure both Batgirl and Batwoman are independent agents despite wearing the Bat on their chests. And there was that one girl a few days ago, down in the subway. He's still not sure what to make of her.

"Official line is vigilantism is illegal," Jim says. Between the lack of a real costume and the round edges of lingering baby fat, he's pretty sure the kid is new to the game. Much as Jim appreciates Batman's help and considers the man a friend, the Robins and their ilk always make his heart seize up when he sees them. Jim would not be surprised if part of the reason the Robins keep changing on him is that they don't have a very long life expectancy.

Look at Dick Grayson—Nightwing—after all.

"Ugh, you're as bad as my boss," the kid says. " _She_ keeps insisting I can't go out on my own until I'm at least seventeen, which is totally not fair. I'm nearly as good at hand-to-hand as the girls."

"Who're you working for, kid? Catwoman?" She usually works alone, but there have been rumors on the street lately that she's been seen running with some kid. Could be this one.

The boy shakes his head. "Why does no one believe me when I tell them I've gone straight? Is it the name? I bet it's the name, probably should've switched handles, huh? Catwoman's a _thief_ , _I_ am an information-retrieval specialist."

"You're a hacker." Jim suspected as much, what with the laptop and all. 

"Excuse you. As one who is fighting the good fight for those oppressed and downtrodden by Corporate America, I prefer the term 'hacktavist.'"

"Still not legal. What are you doing here? Not the best way to stay off the radar of the law, hanging around Gotham Central."

"I'm here because super-secrecy only helps so much and things are starting to spin far enough out of control that I'm not sure how long I can keep it under wraps. Time for you to step up, man."

"Excuse me?"

The kid sighs, and Jim doesn't doubt he's rolling his eyes behind the lenses of his mask. "You have to understand that doing this goes against everything I personally believe in. I'm only helping you because if we _have_ to have a fascist oligarchy, there are way worse people who could be running the paramilitary arm of the government."

It's nothing Jim hasn't heard before—he raised two teenagers, after all. Even well-behaved Barbara went through a brief anti-establishment phase while in the throes of puberty. "I really don't think—"

"You're the focus of a targeted character assassination plot, Commissioner," the boy says flatly. "Hypnotising you to see a gun where there wasn't one was just the tip of the iceberg. I've killed over fifty bogus stories intended to drag you through the mud in the last two days alone, and that's just on the electronic side of things. If they can't destroy your reputation, they're more than happy to take you out of the picture entirely."

"What." It's a lot to take in, particularly since this is the first time Jim's heard anything about someone looking to discredit him. Not that it's new—when you're the police commissioner in a city like Gotham, there's always someone gunning to take you down a notch or six. This, though. If the kid's to be believed, this sounds like something completely new. "Who—?"

"We're working on that. Like, okay. There are a lot of people in play? Figure probably everyone ever is teaming up against you right now. Still trying to get a fix on the mastermind. My money's on Hush, personally, but one of my colleagues swears it has to be Ra's al Ghul because of the literal assassins and all. Though boss says no and she reads his super-secret blog or something, so." The kid digs around in the pocket of his hoodie, pulls a sheet of paper free, and holds it out.

Against his better judgement, Jim takes the paper, eyes scanning the message printed there. "What's this? Some kind of joke?"

"Something one of my associates came across a few weeks back. By our estimation, that crazy dude in the subway last week was supposed to do something nastier than force you into having an existential crisis. Like I said—we're trying to stay on top of things and keep you out of trouble, but you sure as hell don't make it easy."

"The woman in the subway—the off-model Batgirl," Jim says, realization dawning at last. "She's with you."

The kid lets out a bark of laughter, teetering precariously where he's perched in the open window of Jim's office. "'Off-model Batgirl'—that's awesome, I'm totally stealing that, she'll go spare." Coughing, he schools his expression back to one of seriousness. "I mean. I can neither confirm nor deny any association between myself and any other masked vigilantes who may or may not be operating within Gotham and its surrounding environs."

"Kid—"

"You can keep that," the boy says, ignoring Jim entirely. "It's your copy. We would've told you sooner, but we weren't sure how valid the threat was. Now, the person assigned to babysit you tonight had something come up, so we'd _really_ appreciate it if you showed some sense and acted like a normal admin-type person and spent the evening in your office where we can keep you out of trouble. You do that and I'll focus on making these bogus 'solicitation of a minor' charges disappear, okay?" The kid lifts his laptop, meeting Jim's shocked look with a grin. "Awesome, good talk. Great to be working with you, Commissioner!"

Before Jim can make a move, the kid tips backwards off the sill with a whoop. Jim can't even find it in him to be surprised when, having rushed to the window, he catches a glimpse of the kid swinging out of view on a line. After over half a decade of this, Jim's learned that teenage boys are irredeemable adrenaline-junkies when it comes to risking life and limb using Gotham's questionable architecture to reenact their favorite Spider-Man moves.

Sighing, Jim turns his attention back to the paper in his hand, rereading what it says there.

> You have been cordially invited to partake in the devastation of Gotham City. Jim Gordon falls in precisely two weeks' time. The rest is up to you.

  
Much as he'd like to ignore the warning, to write it off as the delusions of an unstable kid, Jim's lived in Gotham too long for that.

"Sorry, kid," Jim murmurs to himself, "not going to be able to stay here." If masks are already involved, a trip to the roof of Central is definitely in order.

* * *

> From: Loop-da-Snoop <do-not-reply@loopdasnoop.com>  
> To: <thebluestbird@kmail.com>  
> Subject: Account Activation                         June 28
> 
> Congratulations on your new account, user    **MIDWICH**.
> 
> Only one more step and you can start using the Loop-da-SnoopTM messaging app for all your Big Brother-free communication needs!
> 
> Just click the link below to verify this e-mail address and activate your account:  
> https://activate.loopdasnoop.com/63C57J96W.1367J0J
> 
> After registration and confirmation that you are, in fact, a human being and not a robot, you may choose to purge any and all connection between your account and this address if you so choose. Note that doing so may result in an inability to access your account should you forget your password or your account is otherwise compromised. Loop-da-Snoop, Inc. does not maintain user records beyond what is necessary for users to access their accounts.
> 
> _ Loop-da-SnoopTM is a device-to-device instant messaging service that allows for unrecorded, anonymous communication between two parties. All communication is sent via encryption, but cannot be protected from third-party monitoring software such as keytrackers and certain viruses. Loop-da-Snoop, Inc. is not responsible for any user-created content. _

  


* * *

**Welcome to Loop-da-Snoop!** You have **1** new message.

Message from **Seventhdayspeaker** :  
RR is one of the more techie nightcrawlers, so we'll have to be ridic careful.

> **NEW CHAT**
> 
> ` Midwich: Do I want to know about the SNs?`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: Needed something quick and quiet.`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: Simple rules: If you do this, no chatting to or about Computer Club. All contact is limited to occasional communication with me through this app.`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: In a pinch, you can call the kid, but that's only in case of emergency.`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: No RL names or info. No pen names.`
> 
> `Midwich: Christ. Do I have to quit my job while I'm at it, too?`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: Already taken care of.`
> 
> `Midwich: What?!! Wait a minute, I need that money!!!`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: Paid leave of absence, the kid set it up. Don't worry, just focus on this.`
> 
> `Midwich: Fuck. Starting to rethink all this.`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: You wanted to play the big leagues.`
> 
> `Seventhdayspeaker: Keep your head down, learn what you can re: what the competition knows about puzzle night crew. I'll see what your red headed friend can tell us about the pig problem.`
> 
> `Midwich: ...if you say so.`

  


* * *

"You don't know who the boy was?" Bruce asks as he examines the paper in his hands. As a cheap photocopy of the original, it doesn't offer much in the way of clues beyond the message itself. Even the typeface is one that comes prepackaged with many popular word processing programs. "This could be a red herring."

Jim shakes his head, jamming his hands back into his pockets. "He just said he wasn't a Robin and that he didn't work with you."

Not that that means anything. From what Jim's already said about the boy's apparent aptitude with computers, Bruce wouldn't be surprised if Jim's mystery visitor turns out to be Tim, choosing to pretend he's someone else for reasons known only to him. No matter how many times Bruce tries to let Tim know he was— _is_ —just as much a Robin as the other three, the boy refuses to see.

"The other night you mentioned a woman in the subway dressed like Batgirl," Bruce observes. First a Batgirl look-alike, now a Robin who claims not to be a Robin? He's starting to worry he'll have to keep an eye out for false Nightwings or Batmen.

Jim nods, glancing over his—their—city. "This one made it sound like he's probably working with her, though he tried to make out like he isn't. Have you heard anything from your crowd about a group of teenage vigilantes starting up in Gotham?"

Sometimes Bruce wonders about just what Jim thinks Batman's life is like outside the city. Bruce is fairly certain Jim knows exactly who's under the cowl, only had his suspicions confirmed with Dick's unmasking a few months back. Jim _definitely_ knows Batgirl's identity, Barbara's only fooling herself thinking otherwise.

"My associates generally frown on encouraging teens to engage in our line of work," Bruce admits. He knows Jim has never been entirely comfortable about Robin, that his disapproval only grew when Damian with his obvious youth took over the position. But Bruce has had his reasons for each of his chosen partners, and over the years he and Jim have covered some if not all of them. No reason to rehash old arguments.

"The Teen Titans," Jim starts to say and it takes all of Bruce's self-control to not press his hands to face and groan.

"The Teen Titans by and large operate outside the purview of the Justice League and its members."

"Is it possible these two kids are Titans?" Jim presses.

"Much as it would be a load off my mind for that to be the case here, I very much doubt it," Bruce says. "Excepting Red Robin, the Titans are all metas of one kind or another. From what you've said, it sounds like the vigilantes you've encountered are, ah." He pauses, searching for a tactful way of putting it that won't shed too much light on his own lack of extraordinary ability.

"Closer to being self-made?" Jim suggests, a wry twist to his mouth. "Still, you could ask Red Robin about them, couldn't you? He always struck me as the sort of boy to keep track of stuff like that."

Bruce pauses in the middle of rewinding his grapple gun to fix Jim with a look. "You called me here to have me pass a message on to my protégé."

Jim shrugs. "I also warned you of a potential threat-slash-undertaking happening in the city, but, yes." He pauses for a moment, smirks, and adds, "Don't forget, you're not the only one around here who's learned his way around teenagers."

Which, of course, is part of the problem with Jim's news. With Dick and Jason out of the nest, Tim's pretending to be, and Damian... gone—Bruce was really looking forward to being done with teens for a while.

* * *

> `RedBird: Are you running a Gotham team?`
> 
> `Oracle: Wow, rude. Hello to you, too.`
> 
> `RedBird: Yeah, hi, whatever. Are you?`
> 
> `Oracle: I don't see how that's any of your business, Mr. 'I'm so busy being unstuck in time that I can't be bothered to keep track of my assigned super-person.'`
> 
> `RedBird: That was NOT my fault! How were we even supposed to know? They looked exactly the same! Also, not relevant. Do you have people keeping tabs on Commissioner Gordon?`
> 
> `Oracle: For such an important guy, he should really do more to guard himself against character assassination.`
> 
> `Oracle: I'm surprised your Batdad isn't more concerned about it, actually. After the shitstorm with Leviathan, Gordon's the main reason the good people of Gotham haven't turned against Baman entirely.`
> 
> `Oracle: At least keep an ear to the ground on what all the creeps are plotting.`
> 
> `RedBird: Look, I get that you're annoyed, but I honestly don't care if you're running your own team in the city. Batman's the one who's territorial, not me. I mean, the Birds of Prey did good work when they were around.`
> 
> `Oracle: It's hilarious that you mention them in this context but go on.`
> 
> `RedBird: I just would've liked a head's up on the fact that there are two more people I have to cover for with B.`
> 
> `Oracle: Oh, Red. That's so sweet.`
> 
> `Oracle: Also, really fucking funny that you think I only have two people and that they might possibly need your help to avoid the Bat.`
> 
> `Oracle: Adorable.`

  


* * *

_Posted in a Gotham warehouse owned by the Noh-Jay Consortium._   



	3. Chapter 3

It's not like Stephanie doesn't get where Oracle is coming from with her insistence that Stephanie keep a low profile for as long as there are people out to get her. The entire team had a good long talk about "reasonable risk" back during the Leviathan fiasco when Talia al Ghul put a bounty on Robin. (And, yes, Stephanie does see the parallels in their situations. She gets that it's a rough deal, being the child of a supervillain, even a D-lister like Cluemaster.) Just. She doesn't see why Spoiler has to keep an equally low profile when it's not like anyone even _knows_ to connect Stephanie to the Spoiler identity. Sure, back when she first started out on the internet she didn't know any better, but Stephanie's learned her lesson since those early, tinhatty days. Someone would have to have, like, Moneyspider-level computer mojo in order to connect Spoiler Alert online to Stephanie Brown in real life. As it is, she's been particularly careful about never connecting Spoiler-the-vigilante to Spoiler Alert the blogger.

So it's not as if Stephanie's really running any kind of _risk_ if she goes out in the city as Spoiler. Oracle is just ridic-paranoid sometimes.

"This is ridiculously paranoid," Stephanie says, then sticks out her tongue at the mask in her hands. It's a full-face mask, a step up from a ski mask in that there's no mouth hole and the eyes are mirrored lenses. It's basically a black Spider-Man mask and Stephanie hates it.

"I'm willing to lift the age restriction and allow you to patrol the city," Oracle tells her, like that's some great sacrifice on her part. Stephanie knows what's really going on here—Bluebird's busy spying on Red Robin and the rest of the Bats, so Oracle's down a person, and it really rubs her the wrong way to let Moneyspider (who, Steph has to agree, is pretty much a baby) out on his own. "It must be hard, staying inside the warehouse all day. But if you want out, you have to wear that mask."

"Cluemaster and his buddies are trying to kill _Stephanie_ , not Spoiler," Stephanie reminds her. "I'll be _fine_."

"He already suspects you're behind the leak in his organization. A blonde vigilante showing up in Gotham right now is too chancy. Wear the mask, tuck your hair in, keep your head down."

Ugh, this is just. "So not fair," Stephanie grumbles, wrinkling her nose. "This is totally going to cramp my style."

"Wear it over your existing mask so you still have protection from broken noses and gases," Lonnie suggests, because it's not like _he's_ being forced to wear a full-face mask that looks creepy and dehumanizing. He doesn't even wear a freaking costume, just a domino mask and a red hoodie.

"Stop revelling in my misery or I'll recalibrate all the monitors after you go home tonight." Stephanie wouldn't really do that, because Lonnie is a sweet and squishy cinnamon roll and it would be the equivalent of kicking an extra-adorable puppy, but it's not like he knows that.

Sighing, she pulls on the mask. "Okay. Where am I headed tonight?"

"Flying Fox is keeping tabs on the commissioner, but there's some rioting in the Narrows," Lonnie says. He glances at Oracle, who's busy sticking black electrical tape over the triangle on her mask, because she has issues with letting Gotham's rogues knowing Oracle picks sides. "Minimal police presence, they could probably use a hand, boss."

"Sounds good," Oracle says, giving a short nod. She hesitates, then glances back at Stephanie. "Spoiler, if you do well tonight, you can go solo tomorrow."

"Really?" If Steph gets a chance to go solo outside of Gordon-sitting, maybe she can check in on her dad, see what the creep is up to. Maybe he's slacked off on his attempts to kill her. Maybe she can go home again.

"Just keep the damned mask on."

"Yeah," Stephanie says, tucking the last of her hair up under the new mask. "Yeah, I can do that."

* * *

Harper isn't sure how she ended up in Japan (lies, she knows exactly how she got here—she guilted her way onto Red Robin's sweet-ass Birdplane), but it sure beats following Gordon around, waiting for some schmuck to take a shot at the good commissioner. Spoiler insists that the mastermind (Spoiler's _dad_ —god it's good to know Harper's not the only one on the team with a no-good father) behind all this will try again after Tam's disruption of the Train Incident and Oracle seems to agree, but babysitting duty is _boring_.

Plus, Harper's learning new things and meeting all kinds of interesting tech—Maxwell the cyborg capuchin is a pretty sweet symphony of technorganics, even if he does have subpar servos. Clearly, while Sergei Alexandrov may very well be a genius when it comes to microtech—may, in fact, actually be telling the truth when he says the nanobots of his design that are responsible for whatever's wrong with Cullen and the other kids were stolen from him—he is not so savvy when it comes to working on the macro level.

 _"But what is this, Red Robin? You come to me worrying about nanobots bearing my mark while showing no concern for those that have infested both you and the girl?"_ Alexandrov's voice rings out across the intercom, courtesy of a little rewiring Harper undertook back when Red Robin and Alexandrov decided the adults (read: male folk) should go to the other room to talk, leaving her with the monkey.

Ha. Good to finally have verification on Oracle's frequent claims/denials of having infected them all with nanites. Sure, Oracle _said_ none of them had nanites back when the Crime Syndicate invaded, but, according to Spoiler, Oracle also later claimed the ability to deliver electric shocks via those self-same nonexistent nanites.

"And that, Maxwell, is why you can never trust the mysterious masked woman to be telling you the truth even when the chips are down and the stakes are high," she tells the monkey, poking at his arm with one of the many tools from the workbench.

 _"Oh, uh. Those're. Not important. I know where they're from and they're not a problem. Mostly,"_ Red Robin hedges. _"Completely different source than the ones I'm here about."_

_"You are not curious about their origins? There are not that many who dabble in nanotechnology who are as friendly and well-intentioned as I."_

_"Like I said, I know where they're from. And Bluebird's will be some of the same batch that's running rampant in the Narrows. The ones with_ your _mark on them."_

_"Ah, and there you would be wrong. You and the girl clearly share nanobots from the same source."_

_"What? But that's not—"_

Shit. So much for Harper keeping her connection to Oracle on the down-low. Still, no point in giving away the game any sooner than she has to. She pokes the intercom, connecting the circuits that will turn it into a two-way system. "I tag along for a simple jet ride and you take it out on me by infecting me with micro machines? Not cool, dude—I thought we'd bonded over mutual color-based bird names."

 _"They probably got on you from me,"_ Red offers apologetically. _"Wait. How did you—"_

Attaching a scope to the front of her mask, Harper starts examining her arms, still talking. "Yeah, I hacked the intercom and turned it into a two-way radio to keep myself occupied. Good thing, too—you would have never told me anything about this otherwise, would you've?"

There, on her forearm, trying to sneak under her glove. With an industrial-strength mini-magnet from Alexandrov's workbench, it's a simple matter for Harper to trap the tiny bot and remove it from her skin.

Clearly displeased with its situation, the nanite flashes in indignation, little sparks of light that Harper would never be able to see if it weren't for the scope on her mask. Harper's grasp of Morse code is a bit shaky, so she has to wait for the nanite to cycle on to ASCII before she can parse what it's saying.

"Looks like our little friends have a message for us." Harper's attention is completely captured by the tiny, flashing robot, and she doesn't even glance up as Red Robin and Alexandrov come into the room. "Does 'R-O-Y' mean anything to you?"

* * *

> `RedBird: Do me a favor and punch Arsenal in the face next time you see him?`
> 
> `RedHood: Kinda busy running with different redheads at the moment, kid.`
> 
> `RedHood: Not that I don't believe he deserves it, but what'd Roy do this time?`
> 
> `RedBird: Released judgy nanites on the world.`
> 
> `RedBird: Or, well.`
> 
> `RedBird: Gave them to someone with a dubious moral compass.`
> 
> `RedHood: Wait, is this about his gossipfests?`
> 
> `RedHood: Because I did warn him against taking dating advice from strange women he meets on the internet.`
> 
> `RedBird: ...yeah, no. Not even going to ask.`

  


* * *

Since Oracle never specified what Stephanie should be doing on patrol outside of helping people, she figures it's totally within her rights to check out her dad's hidey-holes and try to find out what the guy's up to. Sure, there are the bugs Stephanie planted months ago, but they're audio-only, not the best quality, and Cluemaster's already found and destroyed more than half of them. If she could get just one camera in there maybe they could finally figure out who the hell her dad's mysterious benefactor is, since Oracle has totally nixed Stephanie's suggestion it could be Bruce Wayne and there are, like, way too many face-stealing rogues and blue-eyed, black-haired studs living in Gotham.

It's not like she _planned_ to get stuck in the rafters of an abandoned garage for literal hours while Cluemaster and Totally Not Bruce Wayne discussed their Very Sinister plans for the city. Don't get her wrong—Stephanie totally appreciates learning all about how each member of Cluemaster's little sewing circle figures into his plans to _throw the entire city into chaos, seriously what the fuck_ —but it's always disconcerting to hear someone you've looked up to your entire life straight-out say he plans to kill you. Doubly-so when the person in question is your _dad_.

Stephanie thought she got over this when he sent a bomb to her friend and _blew her up_. Apparently, she was wrong. (God, she's going to need so much therapy when this is over. So much.)

It turns out to be just as well she was in the rafters, since Cluemaster's buddy does _something_ that would have totally fried her phone if Bluebird hadn't given all their 'work' phones Bat-level protections with the super-fun WayneTech toys Oracle keeps 'acquiring' for them. As it is, the less-sophisticated bugs Stephanie planted earlier in the evening end up being completely useless, which is unfortunate. Stephanie didn't exactly ask before grabbing them from the warehouse equipment cabinet. Hopefully she won't be in too much trouble.

Eventually, after what has to have been at _least_ three hours, the coast is clear and Stephanie can _finally_ jump down and see about getting the hell out of there.

She hears the footstep behind her before the gas capsule even rolls into view, and that gives her just enough warning to dodge the hand that aims to grab her. Cluemaster starts talking, trying to engage her, to distract her, probably trying to figure out who the hell she is and which of the city's powers she works for. Stephanie—Spoiler—ignores him. This isn't her father, this is a criminal who wants to kill her, wants to discredit Commissioner Gordon who is trying his hardest to make Gotham safe.

Gas starts to fill the room.

The goggles in the new mask have some sort of weird night-vision capabilities, and Spoiler activates that now as the gas clouds her vision. After that, it's easy as pie to find Cluemaster in the darkness and chuck a wrench at his head. Spoiler grabs one of the motorcycles leftover from when the building was an actual garage and not just a creepy supervillain base, prays it's not all that different from riding a bicycle, and burns rubber getting out of there.

She doesn't _think_ the explosion in her wake is her fault. At least, it's probably mostly not hers. 80% Cluemaster, 20% Spoiler, totally acceptable division of blame, Oracle isn't likely to count it against her in the whole 'minimal property damage' score, right? Right.

Oh god, Stephanie really hopes she hasn't accidentally killed her dad, and not just because of Rule One.

A second bike peels out of the garage, hot on her tail, and she feels a brief burst of relief before it occurs to her that if the man won't hesitate to kill his own daughter when she _might_ be a threat to his plans, he'll have exactly zero qualms about killing someone he believes to be a complete stranger and a definite threat. Plus, like, he's always had a grudge against vigilantes, ever since that time Batman broke into their house and loomed at him when she was eleven. So there's that, too.

Spoiler _tries_ to steer clear of any bystanders, but even at eleven o'clock at night Gotham is busy with activity, from late-night commuters to construction workers. The latter nearly get _blown up_ when Cluemaster lobs one of his capsule bombs at Spoiler as she takes a shortcut through the construction site, but she manages to whip out her staff and bat the capsule into an empty pit at the last minute. It's a pretty close call.

Gulping, Spoiler re-collapses the staff and hooks it back on her belt, then thumbs her comm to life. "In some trouble, M, could really use an escape route."

 _"Sorry, kind of busy with Gordon-watch at the moment,"_ comes after several stress-filled seconds.

"What? What happened to FF? O?" Spoiler demands, swinging wide to narrowly miss plowing into a confused-looking businessman and taking the first road out of Gotham she finds. The freeway offers less cover in the form of buildings and sneaky alleyways, but there also won't be any pedestrians. She'll take what she can get.

 _"Beacon Tower had some sort of earthquake just now. Whole city is a little crazy,"_ Moneyspider tells her. _"Sorry, no cavalry tonight."_

Which, okay. Not a problem. "That's fine. I just need you to relay a message for me," she says, outlining what she wants him to do. She can work with this, really she can. She just needs to buy herself some time, get a bit more distance between her and her pursuer. Unfortunately, Cluemaster isn't about to give her what she wants, and one of his capsule-bombs wedges itself into the wheel of her bike, holy crap. She has to ditch this bike, she has to not kill herself jumping free, she has to do _something_ about her totally-psycho dad.

There's a bridge coming up ahead of her, and Spoiler makes a split-second decision, slamming on the gas and speeding up even as she aims for the raised divider in the center of the road. She jumped a bicycle once, when she was thirteen. This is basically the same idea.

The divider gives the bike just enough lift to send it up instead of flipping it, and it's a strain, but Spoiler manages to grab the bridge's railing and swing herself free of the explosion, expending her extra inertia and letting her body tumble into a relatively injury-free fall on the bridge. The explosion throws Cluemaster off his own bike, but he's still fifteen feet below her and forty feet past the wrong side of the sign signifying Gotham's boundaries.

Her heart's still pounding a mile a minute when the police cars pull up and men in uniforms pile out, restraining Cluemaster as he shouts useless expletives and claims of owning the GCPD. Spoiler doesn't know how strong this claim is—Gordon doesn't seem the sort to listen to any crook's bullshit, but some of his underlings are probably on the take—and really doesn't care, since Moneyspider has clearly passed on her message.

Even if Cluemaster does own the GCPD, it still won't help him any against the state police.

* * *

**Welcome to Loop-da-Snoop!** You have **1** new message.

Message from **Midwich** :  
...wtf why didn't you tell me Mr. Mysterious is *Vin Drape*?!!

Omg.

Just realized the implications of this and why Isadora got all huffy about that waffley accusation.

Jsyk, my mind? Officially *blown*.

* * *

> **Dingbat (Tam)**  
>  Luke, I know it's late and you're probably busy, but I could really, really use your help with something.
> 
> **Dingbat (Tam)**  
>  If you could take a minute from your night job to swing by Mercy Hospital, I'd totally owe you for life!

  


* * *

_"Hey, Babs, I don't know if you remember me, but this is Tam Fox—we used to have ballet together? Anyway, Dick mentioned last December that you still have your fancy handicap van, and I was wondering if I could borrow it? Kind of on a time crunch here, so if you could get back to me ASAP, that would be great."_  
*BEEP*


	4. Chapter 4

Much as she's loathe to take on yet another stint of babysitting duty, Tam understands the logic behind Connie sending her to Mercy General to keep watch on Alfred Pennyworth. The old man was attacked at Wayne Manor the night before and, by Connie's reasoning, there are only a handful of people who could know that hurting Alfred hurts all of the Bats. Sure, it _might_ have nothing to do with Batman, but since it looks like the attack was the reason for the manor being broken into in the first place, a lack of Bat-connection seems highly unlikely.

The way things are going, Connie feels Alfred isn't in the clear yet, but doesn't have enough concrete evidence to back her hunch and convince Red Robin to take on the task of bodyguard. As the only one of Oracle's team to have a reason to be at the hospital _and_ know the connection between Bruce Wayne's butler and Batman, Tam is the logical choice. And she doesn't mind, really—after years of charity galas and Martha Wayne Foundation luncheons, all of the Fox siblings have adopted Alfred as a sort of honorary great-uncle. Tam was more than happy to step up when Connie asked her to.

Still. It is possible Tam is starting to panic. Just a little. With a glance at the unconscious nurse sprawled on the floor of Alfred's hospital room, Tam tries yet _again_ to get in touch with Luke.

She's focused on the ringtone, so it takes Tam a minute to notice the tap on the window. When the sound finally registers, she startles to attention, dropping her phone on the bed and grabbing up the taser-knitting needles she used on the nurse earlier (thank you, Harper).

A familiar face peers at her through the the fifth-floor window. A _very_ familiar face. Swearing softly to herself, Tam strides over and opens the window so Flying Fox can scramble inside. "Took you long enough," Tam grumbles.

"'Thank you for realizing I was in over my head and coming to rescue me.' Oh, it's nothing, Miss Fox, you're very welcome," Connie—because of _course_ it's Connie wearing Tam's costume—says sarcastically. "Alright, I'm here. What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"The nurse wanted to prep Alfred for transfer to Arkham Asylum on the orders of a Dr. Elliot," Tam summarizes. She may not be overly-familiar with all of Batman's rogues, but Thomas Elliot's name has been on the warehouse whiteboard for months now. "Why are you wearing _that_?"

"Working incognito. Don't want anyone to twig just yet to the fact that Oracle's wearing the white hat in this whole escapade," Connie explains. She takes in the stripped and bound nurse, the scrubs Tam has pulled on over her own clothes, Alfred already transferred from the bed to a waiting wheelchair. "What are you still doing here? You're obviously ready to go."

"No wheels," Tam admits. "Mom dropped me off on the way to do errands. I didn't think I'd have to run from a supervillian!"

"Is that all?" Connie tosses her a ring of keys. "Basement garage, right next to the ER entrance."

Tam's eyes widen—Connie's weirdly possessive of her Absolutely Generic car. She's let Tam drive it a handful of times, but never without herself as a chaperone. "Are you sure? I mean, Luke or Babs might still get back to me—"

" _Please_ tell me you don't mean Gordon's daughter?" Connie sighs. "Of course you know her. Ugh, what is my life." Tam isn't sure what the significance of her friendship with Babs is, but she's thinking now really isn't the time for Connie to be focussing on it.

"I'm just gonna...?" Tam gestures to the door, then drops her knitting in the lap of the unresponsive Alfred and takes the handles of the wheelchair.

"Yes, yes, of course. Try to get him to the Wayne Enterprises building, level C of the car park. Enter through the northwest driveway, someone _should_ meet you." Connie's wearing the Flying Fox helmet, but without Oracle's voice filter warping her words, Tam can hear the frown in her friend's voice. " _If_ he knows what's good for him."

"What about him?" Tam asks, gesturing to the nurse on the floor. She's a little worried that he still hasn't woken up, but considering that the syringe of sedative she used on him after the taser was the same one he was about to pump into Alfred, her guilt isn't running particularly high.

"He is going to continue his beauty sleep in the bathroom," Connie says, already lifting the man under the arms and dragging him towards the room's ensuite.

"And you?"

" _I_ am going to hang out here in the dark and pull a wolf-in-granny's-clothing. It's time I had a little chat with the good doctor."

* * *

_"Tam again, sorry. Nevermind about the van—turns out my roomie's trunk is big enough to fit a wheelchair. Who knew! Though, uh. Did you ever finish that law degree? Might need some lawyerly help if Luke doesn't surface in time. Not sure if my dad'll be willing to overlook kidnapping in the name of justice to do me a solid."_  
*BEEP*

* * *

> ` Oracle: Busy?`
> 
> `RedBird: Just rebuilding my firewalls because *someone* keeps treating them like tissue paper.`
> 
> `Oracle: Aw, Red. And here I thought you'd written me off as a lovable annoyance. It's great that you still care.`
> 
> `RedBird: Not you. Just. Argh, amateurs.`
> 
> `RedBird: What's up?`
> 
> `Oracle: Dr. Thomas Elliot has ordered that Alfred Pennyworth be transferred to Arkham Asylum. Thought you should know.`
> 
> `RedBird: WHAT on my way do you know`
> 
> `Oracle: Cool it, Red. He had a visitor, she thought it was hinky, got him out of there and headed for the downtown WE building.`
> 
> `RedBird: Ok. Guess I'll meet Julia there.`
> 
> `Oracle: Julia?`
> 
> `RedBird: Alfred's daughter, sort of filling in for him while A's KO'd.`
> 
> `Oracle: Oh, Tuppence, right.`
> 
> `RedBird: ???`
> 
> `RedBird: Whatever, not going to ask. Julia's the one who's got him, right?`
> 
> `Oracle: Hospital security logs ID Pennyworth's visitor as one Tamara Fox.`
> 
> `RedBird: Wait, Lucius's daughter? What's she doing in all this?!`
> 
> `RedBird: Her dad is going to kill B if anything happens to her.`
> 
> `Oracle: Girl's one hell of a driver. Think she's just about killed that car, though.`
> 
> `RedBird: Civilians shouldn't be`
> 
> `Oracle: Sorry, can't hear you over the massive levels of hypocrisy.`
> 
> `Oracle: Btw, Miss Fox already took down one nurse with some bastard stepchild of Krav Maga. So.`
> 
> `Oracle: Word of the day is probably "diplomacy."`

  


* * *

_"Okay, we're confirmed that someone will meet you there. Try not to hurt him, I'm hoping he'll offer to replace my car."_

"What? O, who in the world—"

_"Also, heads up—play it cool. He's still in the dark about you and me and all that fun stuff."_

Red Robin drops down out of nowhere, adding yet another dent to the hood of of the car. Tam jerks backwards in the driver's seat, startled. " _Connie_ —"

_"Brb, my quarry just arrived. Oracle out."_

Tam barely has enough time to slip her comm out of her ear and into her pocket before Red Robin recovers from his landing and comes around to knock on her window. She rolls it down, then slaps him on principle (hey, it worked with Luke). "You're paying for that dent. I shouldn't have to do your job."

"Uh."

"Honestly, Dad better be getting some serious hazard pay for having to deal with your lot."

"Miss Fox, I don't—"

"C'mon. Alfred started waking up, like, ten minutes ago and my emergency training covered the basics like CPR and common Joker venom antidotes, but I was out sick when they focused on the MOs of other Gotham rogues." Maybe she should try to be a little nicer—if Alfred's her honorary uncle, he's practically a grandfather to all the Wayne kids—but it's possible that Tam's still feeling more than a little peeved by what Connie told her months ago, that in the other timeline Tam was _engaged_ to this little snot. 

"I _really_ don't think—" Red Robin stops. Sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you for getting Mr. Pennyworth to safety." He opens the passenger-side door and starts the onerous task of extracting Alfred's prone form from the car. "His daughter Julia has been notified of the situation. I'll make sure he gets to her."

Alfred has a _daughter_? This is the first Tam's ever heard of it, but she supposes it's entirely possible. Still. Tam grabs Red Robin's wrist, stopping him. "I just want you to know that I don't like you," she warns him, glaring. "I don't like you, I don't like that you're the one here, I don't like that your boss's connections to Wayne have gotten Alfred hurt."

"Sorry," Red Robin grinds out. "But it's Gotham. Everyone ends up becoming collateral damage, eventually."

The comment throws her for a moment, and then Tam remembers what she's managed to piece together about Tim Drake's history. How Wayne took him in after Drake and his parents were attacked by Penguin's men when Drake's overly-curious nature drew unwanted attention. That not even Oracle has been able to determine the veracity of the claim that Drake's parents were killed in that attack. "Yeah," Tam says softly, releasing his wrist and reaching to unbuckle Alfred's seatbelt. "I know."

"I suppose you would," Red Robin says, and it occurs to Tam that he's probably thinking of her own abduction just last month. Luke had said it was a tip from Red Robin that told him where to find her and Tiffany.

Which reminds her.

"I don't suppose you've heard from Batwing?" Tam asks, earlier worries about Luke resurfacing now that the Alfred crisis appears to be well in hand. "Just, I tried to contact Luke about this when the order first came to transfer Alfred, and he still hasn't gotten back to me. It's not like him."

Red Robin stares at her for a long moment. "I'm not the one who keeps track of Batman's people. That's usually." He stops, eyes downcast; if Tam didn't know better, she'd say he's staring into space. As it is, she can see the worry on his face, the way his gaze rakes over Alfred, checking for injuries. The way his hand slips to Alfred's wrist to check his pulse, though she doubts he can feel much of anything through the thick material of his gauntlets. "There's someone else who takes care of that," he finally says. "I'll see what I can find out for you. Thanks again for this."

Tam laughs, short and somewhat-frantic. "It's Alfred. I couldn't not."

"Yeah, I know."

He pulls Alfred from the car, into the shadows of the garage, and Tam sighs. Rests her forehead on the steering wheel. "Okay," she says softly to the empty car. "Maybe he's not so bad after all."

If Oracle's still listening, there's no response.

* * *

Bruce being Bruce, he's about to head out again when Tim and the others reach the Cave, despite having a good chunk of a freaking _building_ fall on him. (Which, okay, is understandable—Tim's walked off similar injuries himself in the past, but Bruce has been going at pretty much full-throttle ever since Damian's death. He doesn't have any reserves to pull from.)

"No," Tim says, knocking Bruce's hand away from the Batsuit with a birdarang. "You don't go anywhere without at least telling us what the hell is going on." Nanites in the Narrows, Alfred assaulted in the safety of the manor, Alfred nearly abducted from the hospital, saved only by the quick-thinking of an unexpected ally—this goes beyond the targeted attack on Jim Gordon it started out as.

"It's Hush," Bruce growls, keeping himself still long enough for Julia to slap a bandage over a line of stitches on his forearm. "It's been Hush from the start, organizing the rest of Gotham's criminals in another one of his revenge plots."

"Plots that seem to hurt everyone _but_ you," Julia says. Her mouth is pinched in a decidedly sour expression as she balls up bloody gauze and carries it over to the biohazard bin. 

"Hello, who's the new chick?" Jason asks, peering around Barbara in an effort to get a better look.

Tim sighs. He'd rather they didn't get sidetracked, but Jason will honestly look for any excuse to lean in close to Barbara these days, so. "This is Alfred's daughter—I told you about her, she's been on the comms as Penny-Two."

"Wait," Jason says, releasing his helmet and pulling it off. "Tuppence?" Which, huh. Is the same thing Oracle said when Tim mentioned Julia earlier. Weird.

Barbara rolls her eyes and steps forward, offering Julia a hand to shake. "Ignore him, Jason was raised in a barn. I'm Barbara, it's great to meet you."

"Julia Pennyworth." Julia raises an eyebrow and tilts her head to the side, giving Jason a dubious look. "I think I'll stick with Penny-Two. I'm just filling in until Alfred is back on his feet."

"Sorry, I just. Thought you were someone else for a minute there," Jason says. His face is pale and he still looks pretty shaken. Double-weird; Tim _definitely_ needs to ask him about that later.

In the meantime, there are other, more important matters to attend to. "You said Hush is behind this?" he asks Bruce, pulling the conversation back on track. Oracle said Thomas Elliot ordered Alfred's transfer to Arkham, but Tim had figured that was just part of Hush's usual vendetta against Bruce.

"Yes. He was at Beacon Tower and—"

"Wait, timeout," Barbara snaps, holding up her hands in a 'T'. "Bruce, while I respect that your paranoia means you see conspiracies against you under every rock, that just doesn't make sense. The invitation that was sent out _specifically_ targeted Commissioner Gordon."

"Hush knows Gordon is a staunch ally of Batman—"

"But Hush knows who you are—can pretty much figure out who all of us are, except for Barbara. And maybe Jason," Tim says. So, him and Bruce and Alfred, now. God, when did the list get so _short_? Somewhere around the time Damian was skewered and Dick— "Why go after Gordon _first_? Hush's beef is with Bruce Wayne, it always has been. Hurting Batman is just collateral damage for him."

"Hush was at Beacon Tower," Bruce says stubbornly. "He's the only one who would have known to attack Alfred."

"You mean the only one since Joker may or may not have fallen into the great big black beyond in an ambiguous, totally not going to come back to bite us in the ass again later way," Jason mutters, jamming his helmet back on.

Bruce bristles, because he is incapable of handling criticism, even though it is 100% his fault that Joker even knew Batman's secret identity in the first place. "If you'd rather not help, I understand," he says stiffly. "I'm sure you have numerous other, more important matters to attend to."

Jason snorts. "Please. I don't give a crap if it's Hush or some other loser. Someone hurt Alfred, there's no way I'm sitting out on the rest of this," he says, and Tim finds himself nodding along. He may not be back to trusting Bruce the way he did before the Joker, but Alfred is family to all of them, and one thing Tim _has_ learned from working with Batman is that you don't mess with family.

"We don't mind helping, Bruce," Barbara says, sounding a lot more kindly than Tim himself could be in her place—Bruce did, after all, just brush off the concentrated effort to discredit and undermine her father as little more than an inconsequential distraction. "We just ask that you keep us informed and don't try and do this all on your own."

The line of Bruce's shoulders tightens briefly before relaxing. "I'll send you copies of my findings so far."

It's not much but. It's a start.

* * *

When he wakes, there's a bright light shining directly at his eyes and, while the light means he can't see much of anything around him, something about the way sound echoes in the space tells him he's no longer in the hospital room that's his last memory. "What is this?" he demands, struggling in place. Both his hands and legs are bound and his mouth tastes like cotton. "Do you have any idea who I am? You'll be sorry you—"

"See, that's the thing," a female voice says from somewhere to his left. Something about the voice is off, though he can't pinpoint what the problem is, his brain's still so fuzzy. "I'm not the one who should be sorry here. I'm not the one who injected what looks to've been a near-lethal dose of fear toxin into an old man's brain. You, on the other hand..." The light switches off and figure comes into view, though he can't make out much more than a blurry silhouette at this point. "You've been a very bad boy, Tommy."

Hush struggles to blink the spots of light from his eyes, trying to get a clear view of his captor. "I—I don't know—if you're referring to Alfred Pennyworth, you can hardly think I'm the one responsible for—"

"Yes, yes, I know. You were so _careful_." The more they—she—talks, the closer he gets to figuring out what's wrong with her voice. It's—familiar. He's heard it before, he just can't think of _where_ — "Leave no fingerprints, wipe all the surveillance—it could be any one of a number of Batman's enemies! But, Tommy—you fucked up."

The spots have cleared from his vision and he can finally get a clear look. The figure in front of him is on the tall side for her sex, only a handful of inches under six feet, but that's not what arrests his attention—no, that's reserved for what she's wearing. A gold and violet bodysuit of spandex and kevlar, cape flowing from her shoulders held in place by a sky-blue harness molded in the shape of a stylized— "Bat," Hush croaks. Swallows. Tries again. "Batgirl?" He still hasn't been able to determine the identities of the women running around Gotham wearing Bruce's ridiculous symbol. In all honesty, he never thought he'd need to know.

"Mm," the woman murmurs, following his gaze down to the sigil on her chest. "We're not talking about me, Tommy. We're talking about you. You and whatever silly game you're playing with Cluemaster."

"I don't know any—" Hush breaks off as the woman—Batgirl?—picks up a pair of pliers from a small table he's only just now noticing, opening and closing the jaw, examining it with purpose. A glance back at the table is not reassuring, particularly when he sees the array of tools laid out. He'd always thought Bruce and his lot eschewed such crass methods as torture. Apparently Batgirl doesn't play by the same rules as the rest of her ilk. "Ah, well."

"Oh, but, Tommy. Here's the thing. I've been talking to Arthur's daughter, see, and she's seen you with him. So there's really no point in denying that you two've been thick as thieves."

"I don't know any Arthurs," Hush hedges, trying not grimace at the mention of Cluemaster's bubble-headed daughter. He knew that girl was going to be trouble as soon as she stumbled into Cluemaster's kitchen months ago. The bounty on her is a good start, but considering that not even longtime professionals have been able to get a bead on her, ultimately useless.

"Yeah, and I suppose you never killed your parents." Batgirl pauses. "Though, alright, maybe you didn't, this time. _Anyway._ The important thing here is that you wiped yourself from the security footage at Wayne Manor. Now, you and I both know there's only one place in that mausoleum to access that footage, and while I'm doing this thing where I try to believe the best of people, I just can't see you going through all the trouble of breaking into the Bat Cave to erase your ugly mug when you'd like nothing more than to rub it in Wayne's face that you're the one who took out Pennyworth."

Batgirl sets the pliers back on the table and takes a step closer, grabbing the rope tied around Hush's wrists and _twisting_. His fingers start to tingle, then lose feeling completely. For the first time, Tommy starts to feel real panic rising up, clawing at his chest. "Please," he begs. "My hands—you can't—I'm a _surgeon_ —!"

"Time to decide if you're a surgeon or a predator, Tommy," Batgirl croons and there's something odd about her voice, now. It's still familiar, but it's adopted an odd sort of sing-song tone, and when Tommy tries to focus on her mask, the edges seem to wobble, the ears elongating and turning sharp and dangerous. He belatedly registers the soft hiss that's been on the edge of his hearing for who knows how long, the acrid tang in his nostrils as the grey-green gas creeping across the floor of the room finally reaches them.

"C'mon, Tommy," Batgirl hisses, her lips splitting apart in a vicious, sharp-toothed smile. "Why don't you tell me what you were _really_ up to in the Bat Cave?"


	5. Chapter 5

Arkham Asylum falls into the ground in a sinkhole of hate and pain and angry ectoplasm. Gotham emergency services try to keep things under control, but the first responders are paramedics and firefighters, and the majority of the hospital's more dangerous patients escape before the police ever reach the scene.

Tim and Jason get there right when Batgirl pulls up. They manage to beat the cops, but they don't beat the EMTs, and Tim finds himself forced to do triage while Red Hood restrains patients and Batgirl pulls people from the gaping pit in the ground. The EMT Tim is trying to staunch the bleeding on keeps trying to get up, which really isn't helpful.

"Sir, I going to need you to stay still or this tourniquet is never going to get tied," Tim snaps impatiently. "I will sedate you if I have to." He really hopes he doesn't. He'd rather keep the sedatives for those who are injured severely enough to truly need that little bit extra. Or the patients that can't be otherwise restrained.

"I have to help," the man insists, again reaching out towards a prone form lying a few feet away.

When Tim gives the body more than a passing glance, he sees with a wince that it's wearing the dark blue EMT uniform. "That your partner?"

"She was in front of me when the first survivor climbed out of the hole. She's always been faster, out of the bus while I'm still setting the brake."

"I'm sorry," Tim says softly, turning the man's head so he's looking away from his friend and the bloody mess of hamburger that's all that remains of the bottom half of her body. "You've got a good view of the hole from here. Did you see who escaped before my friends and I got here?" he asks, as much to distract the man from the reality of the situation as to gather information.

"Riddler," the man gasps. "Pyg. Uh. The big guy who got Emily." He tries one last time to crane his head and see his friend, but doesn't fight it this time when Tim stops him. Instead, he sags back against the grass. "Emily didn't make it, did she?"

Tim shakes his head, releasing the man to search through the EMT's kit for a pressure bandage. "Big guy, you said? How big? Did he look kind of goopy? Or did he have scales?" Tim's pretty sure Waylon has been at large for a few months now, but Waylon's also one of the few people to be found in Gotham who might be able to completely pulverize a grown woman's hips with just his bare hands.

"It wasn't Killer Croc or Clayface," the EMT says. "This guy had a mask, tubes stuck all over him. Arms like tree trunks."

Crap. Crap crap crap. "Hood," Tim calls out, waving a hand to catch the other's attention.

Jason gives Zsasz another kick in the head before turning in Tim's direction. "What?"

"Do you know anything about Bane being in Arkham?"

"Thought he was still ruling the roost on that weird island in the Caribbean."

"Nope. Looks like he's loose in Gotham with Riddler and Pyg."

"Better add Clayface to that list," Batgirl says, helping a limping firefighter over to where Tim is crouched.

"Hey," the firefighter says after she's collapsed on the ground next to Tim. She reaches out, catching Batgirl's boot when she tries to leave her to the tender mercies of Tim's now-compliant EMT. "He's still down there."

"You said you saw Clayface climb past you," Batgirl reminds her.

"No, I did. I meant Batman."

"What?" Tim asks sharply, head snapping up so he can share a look with Jason. All three of them are still upset with Bruce for not looping them in about Joker and the way he went off the rails following Damian's death, not to mention his current tunnel-vision focus on Hush, but it _is_ worrying that Batman has yet to show his face at a disaster this big.

"He was in there when I was pulled in. Helped me climb up closer to the surface," the firefighter says, pushing hair out of her face. "I think he might've been under the building when the hospital fell down? He looked stuck, said he couldn't fit through the gaps to climb up, wouldn't let me try to dig him out with my leg messed up like it is."

"Comms don't really work underground," Tim says, already springing to his feet.

 _"Relax,"_ says an unfamiliar voice in his ear. It takes Tim a moment to identify it as Julia's—he keeps forgetting that there's a support system when he works in Gotham. _"The boss is still enroute, was busy working crowd control with all the rioting in the streets. Your firefighter probably saw Batwing; he's been in Arkham for a few days now, looking into a supposed haunting, and his comm_ does _work underground."_ Julia pauses, and Tim can hear the worry in her voice when she adds, _"At least, it did up until right before the collapse."_

Tim rises to his feet, straightening his shoulders and taking a deep breath before starting towards the hole that was once Arkham Asylum. "Where do you think you're going?" Batgirl demands. "You jump in there, Ivy'll probably eat you alive."

"Someone's got to get Batwing out," Tim says. "I'm not telling his sister I didn't at least try when I had a chance."

"Sister?" Red Hood asks. He's filched rope from one of the fire trucks and is busy tying up patients, having apparently decided he can't keep kicking mental patients in the head.

"Yeah," Tim says, thinking of Tamara Fox, angry and sharp, ready to fight him in Alfred's defense if need be. Luke isn't the only one of Lucius's kids with a fierce protective instinct. "We kind of really owe her."

* * *

When Luke finally stumbles back home after what feels like _weeks_ spent lost in and under Arkham Asylum, it's to unexpected house guests.

"How was I supposed to know they didn't ask you? She said she did—she said she's your _sister_ ," Rory insists, because apparently Luke needs to be a bit more specific when letting his roommate know about his plans. Which definitely _don't_ include letting Tam and her friend crash at his place for the summer just because Tam doesn't want to deal with their parents.

"Sorry, no, you're right, Rory." Luke rubs his temples, hoping the headache that's been threatening him all day (week? month?) will keep to itself for just a little longer. "You couldn't have known. I'll take care of it."

"I mean, not that I really mind—they've been paying for their share of the food, and the English one even vacuumed the couch." Rory shrugs his shoulders before retreating to his room.

Luke eyes Tam. "What the hell, Tam? How could you possibly think this would be okay?"

"Look, it's just for, like, a couple weeks. Dad gets all weird whenever I come to the city anymore after the whole kidnapping thing, I didn't want him to worry." Tam gives him the big, innocent eyes, like that'll make him feel any better about her bringing a total stranger into his room when she _knows_ what he does. It's amazing that Luke has kept Rory in the dark for as long as he has, and he's only managed that because they have strict apartment rules against entering one another's bedrooms.

"We've been very respectful of your personal things," Connie says, briefly poking her head into the room on her way to the kitchen. She's weighed down with bags of groceries, and Luke hopes either she or Tam knows how to prepare all that, since he and Rory usually subsist on ramen and dubious takeout. "I grew up with an older brother—I know not to open drawers or touch anything I haven't personally wiped down."

Encouraging news, but right now it just makes Luke sound like a total creep. It doesn't help that Tam follows her friend's assurances with a cheerful, "We did wash your sheets before using your bed."

"Now really isn't a good time to be in Gotham," Luke says, because Arkham _did_ just collapse on him and there's a very real chance he's being haunted by actual-fact ghosts because what is his life. "Maybe later in the summer?"

Tam snorts. "It's _never_ a good time to be in Gotham. We're here because we have things to do and it's more convenient to stay in the city than commute from Metropolis."

'Things to do.' Luke gives his sister a long, hard look. He has numerous questions about what, exactly, those 'things' involve. When he finally made it out from under Arkham and found the time to check his messages, he had some rather interesting ones. Only a handful of them were from Tam; several were from Red Robin, and at least one was from Batgirl, whom he's never really even talked to all that much before this. "Yeah," he says slowly, lowering his voice and, with a nervous glance towards the kitchen, moving to close his bedroom door most of the way. "About that. Red Robin said something about a high-speed chase?"

"It wasn't really a chase," Tam splutters. "I mean. I did kind of break several traffic laws but mostly I was just trying to put as much space between me and Mercy General as possible. Someone ordered Alfred to be transferred to Arkham Asylum, Luke! _Alfred._ "

Well. That... that changes a lot of things. After what what Luke has witnessed over the past few days, he wouldn't wish Arkham on any but his very worst enemies and definitely never on Alfred Pennyworth. Even before life went all weird back in Year Zero, Alfred's been a solid, reassuring presence in his and his sisters' lives, telling them stories and letting them help in the kitchen when Lucius Fox met with Alfred about WE's interests, back before Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham. "Red Robin said you did them a big favor. He didn't mention Alfred."

"You understand why I had to do something, right? I know Alfred's a tough cookie, but someone attacked him while you were MIA, he totally couldn't've fought off a baby, and Arkham..." Tam grimaces and shakes her head. "It sank into the _ground_."

"It was a lot worse than just that," Luke confides. "The place was totally out of control _and_ it was being haunted by some very bad stuff." He knows from old stories that Alfred is ex-military, but there's no way that could've prepared him for what Luke saw in Arkham.

" _Haunted?_ Like, for serious? Ghosts and ghoulies and all that?"

"Um, yes?" a voice says and Luke nearly jumps out of his skin, he didn't even notice Connie push the door open. The color has drained from her face and her eyes are as large as saucers. "They're kind of getting goo all over the bathroom?"

"What?" Tam blinks several times. It's been a long time since Luke has seen his sister look so completely flummoxed.

"I guess it's ectoplasm? The goo, I mean," Connie says, sounding a little more settled and sure of herself, though her bubblegum-pink nails are still pressing grooves into the doorframe.

Luke tries to laugh it off with a joviality he definitely isn't feeling. "That's silly. There's no such thing as—"

"I think I convinced Rory he's seeing things after eating that totally hinky-looking burrito earlier and sent to him to the Urgent Care down the road, but, um." Connie shoots them both a desperate look, her nails digging deeper into the wood. Behind her, a sickly green miasma begins to creep and claw its way out from under the closed door of the bathroom. "I mean, I spent just as much time as the next kid poking around old churchyards and Roman ruins when I was little, but I've never seen a haunting on this scale before. Help?"

"I. Yes. Just give me a little while and I should be able to rig something up," Luke says, mind already racing through possibilities. Didn't Batman mention some special metal back at the start of all this...?

"Okay. I'll just go track down your salt, shall I?" Connie says, forcing a shaky smile before prying her nails free and wandering off, presumably in the direction of the kitchen.

Luke narrows his eyes at his sister. "I have to go talk to Batman about some Nth metal, but we are _definitely_ talking about your choice in roommates when this is over."

Tam winces. "Go easy on her? I might've royally messed up her car when I saved Alfred and Red Robin never did verify whether Wayne would cover repair costs."


	6. Chapter 6

Tim watches as first Red Hood, then Batgirl fall victim to Mad Hatter's nanobots. He loses precious seconds trying to understand what he's seeing and by the time he makes the connection he's too close to the floor to pull up out of his dive and escape. He turns, unwilling to go down without a fight, when a bright flash on his right arm distracts him. It's quickly followed by equally bright flashes up and down his legs, his other arm, his torso—

A voice in his ear breaks through his confusion. _"And to think you got all in a fuss with me about the nanites."_

"Oracle?" he asks hoarsely, though it has to be her. "What—what is—"

_"On the advice of certain parties who shall remain unnamed, I reprogrammed your nanites to act as an anti-nanobot 'skin.' Results may vary, so, y'know. Retreat is the word of the day."_

"I can't—Red Hood—Batgirl," Tim gasps, dodging Batgirl's fist as he struggles to explain that he can't abandon his allies.

_"Hey, if Arsenal couldn't be arsed to reprogram Hood's nanites when he got plenty of warning, that's not your fault. And you're hardly the only bird on this scene, so. Run and fight another day and all that. Let the cavalry take care of this mess."_

Bird? Cavalry? What the hell is Oracle talking about? With both Nightwing and Robin dead, just how many bird-themed heroes are left in the city? Tim thinks there may be two or three attached to the Birds of Prey, but he also isn't entirely sure that group is even active anymore, they've been so quiet lately.

A window shatters above him, distracting Tim enough that he zigs when he should have zagged, putting him right in Red Hood's path, and yes, that's definitely the barrel of a gun in his face. He's praying that Jason won't blame himself for this, when a bundle of blue and black lands on Red Hood, knocking him flat.

"Alright, what say we take this fucker down?" Bluebird says, slamming the butt of her taser-rifle into Red Hood's head for good measure. Electricity crackles across her armor, a much more effective deterrent than Tim's own makeshift shield. "Dunno about you, but I've never been a fan of brother-stealing bots."

* * *

Lonnie is never going to let Stephanie live this one down.

All she wanted was a breath of fresh air that didn't come through a mask. Oracle hasn't had word of any sightings of Stephanie Brown in the seven weeks since she dropped off the grid, any normal person would've assumed she'd skipped town for good after Cluemaster put a freaking _$100 million bounty_ on her. A late-night Zesti-run at the All-Nite Quik-Save six blocks from the warehouse should have been perfectly safe.

Which is what Stephanie gets for not realizing that that kind of money would draw all _kinds_ of creeps to town.

She gets way off-route parkour-ing her ass to safety when an honest-to-god _pink-themed assassin_ spots her and tries to run her down on a motorcycle. Thank god Stephanie has her phone and its mildly-creepy Bat-Tracker app ( _not_ Oracle-approved)—she's able to lead Mr. Pink on a merry chase that leaves him right in the path of the Batmobile, because themed assassins are _definitely_ beyond her current abilities, even if she was wearing her uniform. Which she's not, because she stupidly thought it would draw too much attention for a purple-cloaked person in spandex to stop in at the All-Nite Quik-Save. She should have remembered that this is Gotham.

Since he was nice enough to take care of her assassin problem for her, Stephanie leaves a note about the Bat-Tracker app on the still-recovering assassin while Batman is doubling back. It's the least she can do, considering that she and her friends regularly snoop in his network.

She's catching her breath on a rooftop, feeling pretty proud of herself and crowing over the fact that this is the second time she's totally been able to handle herself on her own since Oracle lifted the ban on solo patrols when Killshot finds her.

"You're a hard girl to track down, Stephanie," he says after she barely dodges the bolo he throws at her.

"Lucky you, then, finding me at all," she says, lunging forward with punch. When it misses, she follows it up with a kick, then another punch. "Too bad your luck just ended. I'm no easy-kill target."

"Oh, I had a little help locating you. Someone to tell me all about your habits and hangouts," he tells her as he blocks every punch, steps out of the way of every kick. "And I don't want to kill you. I want to save you."

The announcement throws her for a loop, distracts her enough that she doesn't see the punch coming until it's too late.

* * *

"What was all that, kid?"

Tim pauses, halfway onto his bike. Mad Hatter's down thanks to Bluebird figuring out the nano control was in his hat. Sure, there's the whole question of who Tech was working for, but that's part of Batman's ongoing investigation into whoever's after Gordon. For now, Tim's part of this is over. Or, well, he thought it was.

"Excuse me?" Tim doesn't think Jason's calling him out on his quiet gushing over Bluebird's nano-repelling armor, but with Jason you can never tell.

"Mad Hatter's nanobots didn't touch you and I know you haven't upgraded your fancy showgirl outfit to resist nano attacks."

"You can't actually know that for sure. Some of us do try to plan for any eventuality." Tim is definitely going to hound Harper to share her tech after all.

"Except for how the only one who's more anal than you about documenting and recording suit upgrades is B and you haven't logged any changes since March," Jason insists.

Setting aside the fact that Jason apparently hacked the Nest's computers, Tim must concede that Jason has a point. "I could say the same about you." Tim has no idea if Jason has updated his own suit with nano-repelling abilities, but the Red Hood _did_ seem to resist Mad Hatter's control longer than Batgirl. Not as well or as long as Tim or Harper, but longer than Tim would've expected. "When did _you_ add electroshielding? Isn't that one of Nightwing's old suits?"

"I didn't. Roy's been fucking obsessed with nanotech for months now, can't get within five feet of him without being infected. Apparently his nanos have some sort of automatic defense system that tries to fight off any competition."

"You might have mentioned that when I asked you about Arsenal working with nano weeks ago," Tim grumbles, feeling slightly foolish for having forgotten to follow up on the connection Harper found between Oracle's nanites and Arsenal. "If I'd know that was an actual lead, I could've looked into it."

"Man, I don't even know. Idiot's been going on about them since that whole shitstorm with Joker. Still, at least they were sort of useful—most of the roybots just wander around, talking about how great he is," Jason gripes. "Though his beach tentacles did attack Green Arrow once, I guess."

"...beach tentacles."

"Honestly, the surprising thing is that Kori's put up with him for as long as she has."

* * *

Bruce has has been keeping an eye on the Cluemaster situation for a while now, ever since someone posted anonymously online about how Cluemaster has some grand, nefarious plan for the city. There were several attempts to take down the post, replacing it each time with a bounty on one Stephanie Brown. Trying and never succeeding for long because _someone_ didn't want that post about Cluemaster to disappear; someone with quite a lot of computer expertise. Bruce suspects the boy who visited Jim Gordon a couple of weeks ago and claimed to be single-handedly keeping back a smear campaign against the police commissioner.

As curious as it is that someone has decided a third-rate crook like Cluemaster is behind the invitations that were sent to any number of Batman's enemies, Bruce wouldn't think anything of it if it weren't for the fact that the Stephanie Brown's father is one Arthur Brown, aka Cluemaster. While there's every possibility that the bounty on Stephanie is a roundabout way to bring Cluemaster into line by threatening his daughter, at the moment it's looking more and more likely that Cluemaster himself was the one to put a price on his daughter's head.

When the original blog post is finally—permanently—replaced with an exorbitant bounty of $100 million, Bruce knows he has to take action. Setting aside the fact that Stephanie may very well have brought this on herself by announcing her father's plans on the public forum of the internet (if the bounty _is_ Cluemaster's doing, it could very well be some form of damage control after the girl witnessed something she shouldn't've), she's a young girl on the run from some of the most ruthless people in the business of hunting people down.

Of course, Bruce wanting to help the girl means nothing if she doesn't _want_ his help. Yes, she's untrained and no doubt panicking, but she's also spent nearly a week now running and hiding. Even the most naïve person learns to cultivate a healthy degree of paranoia if they manage to stay free this long. Much as he is loathe to admit it, Bruce needs help if he wants to get inside this sixteen-year-old's mind.

"Stephanie _Brown_?" Tim's eyes widen with shock and something else. It takes Bruce a moment to realize the second emotion there is _recognition_.

"You've heard of her?" Tim does spend an unhealthy amount of time online, it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that he numbers among the followers of the blog which may or may not belong to the girl.

"Sure. She, uh." Tim is usually glib when he speaks, so it stands out that he fumbles for words now, his cheeks turning a faint rose color. "I used to see her at the city-wide meets. She's got one of the smoothest dismounts I've seen, after Dick's."

Well. That's certainly unexpected—it's one thing to know Tim was on track to being an Olympic-level gymnast before he got in over his head with Cobblepot, it's another thing to realize that Tim had an entire life before he became Red Robin. Serious as the situation is, Bruce can't help the faint smile that curves his lips. "You like the way she bends?"

If anything, Tim turns even pinker. "She's a really talented gymnast, that's all! Why are you asking about her? Did something—is she alright?"

Considering how busy Tim has been lately with Harper Row and nanites, Bruce supposes it's not surprising that he's out of the loop. Bruce outlines the situation, explaining how Stephanie is on the run and currently hiding from both friend and foe alike. "I had word that her mother hired Killshot to collect her before someone worse could, but when I tried to follow up on it, Crystal Brown had already left town."

"When was that?"

"Early this morning. According to Killshot, he delivered Stephanie to her mother at the Happy Rest Motor Lodge early yesterday evening and left as soon as he had payment for the job."

"So they're probably already free and clear. Why are you worried about this?"

"I went to the Happy Rest Motor Lodge after finishing with Killshot. According to the clerk at the desk, Ms Brown was alone when she checked out. If the signs of struggle in her room are any indication, it was not by her own choice that she left alone." Bruce grimaces, loathe to divulge the next piece of the puzzle, if for no other reason than it is... slightly embarrassing. "The evidence in the room was very distinct." He clears his throat. "It would appear that Catwoman has taken charge of the girl."

Tim glances up at him, startled. "What would she want with Stephanie, though?"

"Selina Kyle is branching out into a more, shall we say, _traditional_ form of robbery. She's the new owner of the Egyptian nightclub and casino. With the bounty on Stephanie's head, it could be Selina sees the girl as an easy means of solidifying her power base." Though Bruce finds it hard to believe that Selina would go so far as to actually collect the bounty. He hopes.

"If Catwoman does have Stephanie then we have a bigger problem than what she plans to do with the girl," Bruce continues. "Security at the Egyptian has become top-notch since Selina took charge. The bouncers are using a WayneTech XR2600 Body Scanner, which means none of the family can get inside for reconnaissance."

"And how did Catwoman _get_ such very expensive and highly-regulated tech?" Tim side-eyes Bruce, his voice dripping with suspicion.

"The Egyptian is a legitimate business and has every right to screen its customers for potential threats."

"Legitimate business my ass," Tim mutters. "Didn't think that one all the way through when you let her have it, did you?"

"She's gone mostly straight," Bruce insists, but even to his own ears it sounds like a whine. Oh well, he probably deserves it for picking on Tim about his interest in the Brown girl.

"A WayneTech Body Scanner," Tim muses. "Sounds like you could use the help of someone completely off the radar. A new player, if you will."

Bruce has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly where Tim is going with this, but he still has to play the game and ask. "Oh? And I suppose you have someone in mind?"

"I do, as it happens. And, hey, you _did_ want someone who'd have insight into the mind of a teenage girl."

* * *

**Welcome to Loop-da-Snoop!** You have **1** new message.

Message from **Midwich** :  
Waffle-run tonight. If you want in on that, I was given an ETA of 2 a.m., meeting at the cat cafe, if you know where that is.

Gotta warn you, tho - Dad's tagging along. So. Fingers crossed.


	7. Chapter 7

The door swings open slowly and the sight before him is so unexpected (because, when it comes down to it, he _trusts_ Selina) that it takes Bruce a moment to process. Row lets out a short, disbelieving bark of laughter and it's enough to jar him back to the reality of the vault. The very _empty_ vault.

"Selina," Batman growls, stalking forward and circling the room. "Explain." Already he can see his initial appraisal was incorrect—the vault isn't completely empty, just lacking the expected contents. A chair sits in the middle of the room, a small coil of rope resting on the seat. Something small and white lies in the center of the rope, and Bruce moves in for a closer look, still waiting for Selina's explanation. He's curious what excuse she'll have for him, considering she seems just as surprised as him. (He'd like to believe he knows her tells.)

"I don't understand," Selina snaps, more angry than confused or upset. Bruce supposes thieves take it as a personal affront when someone successfully pulls one over on them. "She was right _here_. She knew the danger she was in—why would she leave? _How_ could she leave?"

"Well," Row says. They turn to her, still standing in the mouth of the vault. "That last one's pretty easy to answer." The girl gestures upwards; Bruce didn't notice at first because of the low light in the vault, but directly above the chair there's a hole in the ceiling, clear through however many inches of concrete and into the room above them. "Looks like it was blasted from both sides," Row continues, stepping forward and tilting her head back to get a better look. "They probably did it while you and I were kicking butt in the other room, so no one noticed the noise."

"They?" Bruce eyes her skeptically. He agrees with her assessment of twin blasts, but he'd like to know when an electronics whiz from the Narrows became an expert on blast patterns.

"Two explosions means at least two people," Row says patiently. "One for each charge."

"So she had help," Selina says, frowning.

"Or someone else kidnapped her. Again," Row says snidely. She's made it clear from the start that she isn't pleased with this operation, but then she doesn't understand what's at stake here.

"Selina. I'll need to see whatever security footage you have for the evening," Bruce says, mind whirring away. Either woman could be correct, though Row's theory seems more likely. The Brown girl doesn't have the necessary allies to pull off something like this. Not unless her father's suddenly decided she's worth more to him alive than dead.

"If they're good enough to get in and out of _my_ vault, what makes you think the cameras will even have anything?" Selina grumbles even as she sends someone to fetch the requested footage.

"Because," Bruce says, leaning over and picking up the white thing from the chair. It's a piece of paper—a business card, to be more accurate. "They want to be found." He flips the card over and holds it up for the other two to see.

In the center of the card is a blue, equilateral triangle. Scrawled under it in a loose, looping hand, is a single line. 'Sorry about the mess!'

* * *

"Oracle drives a Fiat?"

"I wouldn't complain if I were you, Miss I-can't-have-a-bike-for-an-hour-without-it-dying-a-fiery-death," Oracle growls, slamming the passenger-side door closed as the car pulls out into Gotham's busy 3 a.m. traffic.

"Technically, Oracle drives a sedan. Unfortunately, it's in the shop so we had to take my car," the driver says. She meets Stephanie's gaze in the rearview mirror and smiles. "Hi, I'm Flying Fox, but you can call me Tam. There should be some clothes back there, we picked up your things from the warehouse before coming to get you. Go ahead and change, I'm sure you're ready to wear something clean."

"Holy crap, you're Tam Fox," is out of Stephanie's mouth before she can stop herself. She may not be keeping current with Gotham's Who's-Who at the moment because of RL drama, but she definitely knows the members of one of the city's preeminent families. "Aren't you supposed to be off at college?"

"Metropolis isn't that far, as the crow flies. Or the car drives, in this case," Oracle says. "As you'll see soon enough, since you'll be staying with us until we sort things out." Sometime while Stephanie was trying to process the fact one of her vigilante buddies is the daughter of one of Gotham's most powerful men, Oracle has wrapped a scarf around her neck, half-obscuring the the mask she still hasn't taken off.

"I can't just pick up and move to Metropolis," Stephanie protests. "My mom—"

"—fled the city for parts unknown following your abduction by Catwoman," Oracle says. "I could track her down for you, but let's face it—would she be able to keep you safe if Cluemaster really puts his mind to it? He's already doubled the bounty on your head; it's now $200 million."

Stephanie pretends she's ducking her head to pull a bulky sweatshirt over it, letting the soft fabric hide the look of chagrin she knows is on her face. When she first discovered her dad was up to his old tricks, when she first identified his supposed 'puzzle night' buddies as consisting of the likes of Signalman and Firefly, she tried to hide it from Oracle and the others, tried to believe the best of him. Told herself that it wasn't surprising he hung with people like that, that it would be difficult for him to find acceptance among Gotham's more upstanding citizens. And then she listened to the surveillance she was running on him, _really_ listened to what he was saying.

There are only so many second chances that can be given before you have to face the fact that some people never change. The fact that Cluemaster's willing put up that kind of money to take down one teenage girl just serves to really drive it home.

Though. Now that she thinks about it... "Thought: Where'd Cluemaster get that kind of dough for a bounty?" Stephanie asks, because that's something that's been bugging her for days now and this is the first chance she's had to ask any of the others. "You know he must be good for it, you don't stiff professional killers."

"Well, he's a criminal, isn't he? He probably stole it," Tam says.

"Except he was horrible when it came to being a thief." If Dad had ever been any good, Stephanie knows she would have seen signs of it. Maybe he wouldn't have shown largesse when it came to child support, but he definitely would've treated himself. "He never stole anywhere near that kind of money."

"Maybe you didn't find all his crimes?"

"Trust me. If he had hundreds of millions lying around, he wouldn't have been living in a crappy little house on the outskirts of the city," Stephanie insists. "He would've at _least_ aimed for upper-middle class."

"So now you're an expert on criminal psychology?"

"No, but I know my own fucking father," Stephanie blurts out before she can stop herself. Shit. She hadn't meant to bring that up, to acknowledge that connection—yeah, Tam already knows Cluemaster is Steph's dad, Steph told the team herself back at the start of this. But Stephanie's been trying hard to put some distance between her and him, to remind the others of that connection as little as possible.

"Right," Tam says in a small voice. "Sorry. I didn't—Sorry."

"I'm the one who should apologize," Stephanie mutters. "He's my dad."

"Don't be an idiot," Oracle says. She's been silent up until now—surprising, considering she's the only one who's known everyone's background from the start. "It's no one's fault except Cluemaster's. And don't start thinking we give a rat's ass about what anyone's parents have or haven't done on this team—you're not the only member with a shitty parent just like I'm not the only one with a criminal record."

"Though, to be fair, Moneyspider was more of an anti-slash-folk hero hacker and you were a deadly assassin. Not exactly equivalent," Tam comments.

"Hey, I have yet to kill anyone in the current timeline, that has to count for something."

"It would if I didn't know for a fact that this timeline is only a little more than a year old."

"Um, excuse me? Timeline?" _Assassin?_ Stephanie is feeling _so_ lost right now.

"According to Oracle, someone or something altered and rebooted the timeline last spring and only she remembers the old one," Tam explains. "Go on, O. Tell Stephanie some fun facts about her alter-past self."

"You had two other masked identities aside from Spoiler. Also, the first time you and I met you disarmed me in less than a minute and broke my nose," Oracle says, her digitized voice going soft and almost dream-like. "It was brilliant."

"O...kay?" Stephanie isn't sure how to respond to that. "Sorry?"

"Don't worry about it," Tam reassures her. "She's weird about broken noses. Red Robin supposedly broke hers _twice_ when they met, and you know how she feels about _him_."

"Breaking someone's nose is an ancient and respected form of greeting where I come from," Oracle insists. She straightens suddenly, then reaches into her purse and pulls out a phone. "Huh."

"Trouble?" Tam asks.

"No. But we do need to stop by the airport no matter what city we end up in," Oracle says. "The summer intern's early."

* * *

The Row girl was... not horrible tonight. Poor infiltration technique, but he was forced to provide her with an old passphrase, so he hadn't expected her to excel on that front. More than adequate skills when it came to their encounter with Selina's muscle. Tim said Row wasn't a total loss, but from his report, Bruce expected decent ability with her chosen weapon and possibly some athletic talent. Harper Row has _much_ more than adequate skills in acrobatics, balance, aim, tactics, target-prioritization—the list goes on. If Bruce didn't know better, he'd swear she's had training.

But that's a train of thought for a later date.

The footage for the interior of the Egyptian's vault is useless, clearly looped. He has better luck with the camera from just outside the vault's entrance. Skips until he gets to an hour prior to Row's arrival, then proceeds at double time. Exactly thirty-two minutes before Selina opened the vault for Batman, a woman in a tasteful cocktail dress enters the camera's field of view from the direction of the main room. It's clear from the guard's reaction when the woman approaches him that there's something off about her, but aside from the woman's nonstandard footwear (slick black combat boots, but the confidence with which she walks allows her pull them off without a hitch), Bruce can't see what it is from this angle.

What happens next goes so fast that Bruce has to back up the recording and watch it again at half-speed.

The guard takes a step forward and, between one second and the next, the woman produces a pair of collapsed escrima sticks, shakes them out to their full lengths, and attacks.

She's fast and deadly, clearly trained and possessing years of experience. Bruce would bet that the sticks aren't her usual weapons of choice from the way she moves, but she still knows what she's doing. She stops just short of delivering a killing blow, choosing to render the guard unconscious instead, but there's a half-second of hesitation there—almost didn't remember not to use lethal force? Whatever it is, Bruce doesn't like it. There's something about the way she moves that niggles at his memory, but he can't place it for the life of him.

The guard slumps to the floor and the woman steps up to the vault door, pressing a gloved finger to her ear—trying to better hear something over a comm? Her hand drops and she proceeds to key in the vault's code, getting it right on the first try.

Just before she steps into the vault, the woman turns to look straight at the camera, offering up a quick, two-fingered salute, and Bruce at last sees what it was that set the guard on edge. Framed by short black hair, the woman's face is smooth, black, and completely devoid of features. Or, well. Nearly so. In the center of the forehead is a solitary blue triangle.

Using other cameras, Bruce traces Blue Triangle back through the club, hoping to get a glimpse of the woman's actual face. He reasons that she can't have had the mask on when she arrived at the club, because someone surely would have said something to Selina about a mask showing up at the door. He's able to pinpoint the moment she puts the mask on—sees a black shape come out of a slightly-larger-than-average evening bag. But that's it. Like with the confrontation in front of the vault, her face is always turned away from the cameras or obscured enough by her hair that the image is useless. 

In the end, all Bruce can do is send Row home while he ties up loose ends at the Egyptian. Mostly, this consists of tracking down Selina's security room and taking a moment to edit Row's face out of the night's footage. The girl is good, but dodging cameras has yet to become second nature to her the way it is for the mysterious Blue Triangle, and Tim was right that it's nice to have someone who won't immediately ping on a criminal's radar as one of Batman's allies.

Once that's done, all that's left is a trip up to the roof to see why the cameras there have been recording nothing but white the entire night. Bruce is expecting spray paint or possibly some other stubborn substance—there was a burglary crew a couple of years back that used bubble gum pretty effectively, and Joker had been known to use cream pies during his more whimsical moods. Whatever is obscuring the camera lenses isn't any of that, though. It comes off on Bruce's fingertips before he thinks to scrape a sample into a specimen bag. The rest comes right off with a quick rub of his cape, leaving the camera whole and apparently undamaged, which is... odd.

Bruce leaves the rest of the cameras to Selina's people to take care of, tucking his sample away in one of the pouches on his belt and heading back to the Cave. It's been a long and disappointing night—an innocent girl is still missing, now in the hands of a new, unknown enemy. A girl who may very well be the key to discovering who's behind what's currently happening in Gotham, if the information Selina passed on to Julia is to be believed.

Though he's read it enough times to have the words memorized, Bruce reviews the last post by 'SnMgivevoice' on the Gotham Voices website. He can't be certain Stephanie Brown is responsible for the brutal expose of Cluemaster's past criminal enterprises, the not-so-veiled hints that the man might be involved in whatever game Gotham's rogues are currently engaged in. He can't be certain, but Miss Brown has to have done something to have earned the ridiculous bounty on her head, and the girl does have a history of posting to the Gotham Voices site in the past. If the post _is_ the girl's doing, she's not only become aware of her father's checkered past but also suspects that Brown Senior's criminal activities have started up again.

A pang of guilt and regret hits Bruce as a memory bubbles up to the surface—a girl, only a year or two older than Damian would be now, terrified by the dark shape of the Batman, but bravely pushing aside her fear to ask for her father. It was fairly early in Batman's career, he'd taken Dick in less than a month before—recent enough that Robin wasn't established, wasn't _real_ yet. Bruce wasn't quite a father—that didn't happen until Jason, years later—but he was walking the line of nearly being one. More importantly, he'd remembered being a child wanting his own father (wasn't sure he'd ever stop being that), and in a moment of weakness, Batman let Arthur Brown off with just a warning.

Now that little girl is the target of at least eighteen known assassins. She's missing, she's probably scared out of her mind by all that's happening (or maybe not—even at eleven a fierce fire burned in the eyes of Stephanie Brown). Batman is supposed to protect the innocent from the dark things of the world and tonight Bruce completely failed to do so, let himself be outmaneuvered by a new player, someone who came completely out of left field.

At least Tim isn't waiting for him when he pulls into the Cave, so Bruce can put off informing him that his friend's still missing. It's some small comfort, but nowhere near enough to lift gloom that settled over him on the way back from the Egyptian.

"Hey." Barbara pauses in middle of putting on her helmet, leans back on her bike, flashes him a smile. "What's with the sourpuss look? Did the new girl mess with the car's radio presets? It's your own fault; if you didn't insist on moldy oldies all the time, this wouldn't keep happening each time you acquire a new orphan."

Bruce glowers at her. Sighs. Rubs his face. It's after three. There's no reason to start an argument now, not when there are better, more important things to do. "Actually. Do you a minute? I have something and could use a second set of eyes."


	8. Chapter 8

They end up swinging by the warehouse as well on their way to the airport because Oracle's starting to have all kinds of second thoughts about rescuing Stephanie and apparently now thinks it's just a matter of time before the Bats find the warehouse. Tam carefully packs up the hard drive with all of the team's intel, Steph snaps photos of their whiteboard brainstorms, and Oracle disappears into the office to check on whatever secret project she's had stashed away in there for the past week.

At the airport, Tam slips out to find the supposed intern, because Oracle refuses to take off her mask and Steph is still, technically, running for her life. While they wait, Oracle tugs up her scarf and sinks down in her seat, apparently hoping to avoid drawing attention. It's the middle of the night and this _is_ Gotham—Stephanie doesn't know who Oracle thinks is even going to notice her.

The kid Tam walks out of the terminal with looks close to Steph's age, sporting a scraggly teenage boy attempt at a beard and a flower-patterned wheeled suitcase that screams 'little sister.' Stephanie narrows her eyes. "I call shotgun."

Oracle snorts from the front where she moved behind the wheel while Tam was inside. Apparently, it's now late enough that she figures no one's going to notice her complete lack of face. "Yeah, no. Fugitives from justice are strictly confined to the back seat."

"I'm not a fugitive! I'm a victim here, I haven't done anything wrong." Well, aside from vigilanteism, but in Gotham that's practically an afterschool activity.

"I'm sorry, which of us is currently running from Batman and all his little birdy friends?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't run if he looked in your direction. I mean, if he even knew you _existed_ —"

" _Children_ ," Tam chides, lifting the hatchback so the new kid can toss in the flowered monstrosity.

"Hey, careful with that. My laptop's back there." Stephanie twists around, peering over the seatback to make sure her backpack hasn't been flattened. It looks fine, but the paper bag with her costume that's also back there has tipped over, and the cape has half-spilled out. The kid raises an eyebrow and lifts the hood. "Leave that alone," Stephanie snaps, slapping his hand away. "Jesus, what is your problem?"

"Sorry," the kid says, though he doesn't sound sorry at all. "Didn't know O had more than Fox on her roster."

Tam snorts. "Like she'd be content with just one person to boss around. Meet Stephanie, aka Spoiler. We're pretty sure her dad's responsible for a lot of the mess the city's currently in the midst of."

"Taaam," Stephanie whines, appalled that Tam is telling a total stranger her deepest, darkest secrets. "Rule Three!"

"Jaime is a special exception to Rule Three," Oracle explains as Tam and the kid, Jaime, walk around the car and climb in. Stephanie squeezes in close to the side of the car, putting as much space as possible between herself and the kid. "The alien tech jacked into his body lets him identify people on the genetic level. Secret identities don't really work with him."

"Hi," Jaime says, smiling and holding out his hand to Steph, "I'm Blue Beetle." Stephanie glares at the hand until he pulls it back, his smile slipping into a slightly-confused look. "Oracle's promised to tell me about the bug on my spine in exchange for my help this summer."

"Jaime and his bug are going to find Black Bat for us," Oracle announces, and even with the filter disguising her voice, Stephanie's sure she detects a note of unholy glee.

* * *

It's a small thing.

Bruce pulls up the footage from the Egyptian to show the new arrival. Barbara's already seen it multiple times, doubts she'll get anything out of seeing it again, which is how it is that she's looking straight at Tim when the image on the screen changes. Sees the way his eyes widen slightly, how he unconsciously clenches his hands into fists. How his spine straightens, his lips thin. Though she can't be positive—she can't read Tim as well as she could Dick—Barbara would put money on Tim recognizing something about the woman in the security footage. Her figure, the way she moves, maybe just her dress—something. Curious, Barbara doesn't call him on it, waits instead for him to share with the rest of the class.

Nothing happens. By the time Bruce turns to ask his protégé's opinion, Tim has regained control of himself, all signs of recognition hidden. "A new party?" Tim suggests. "Or another assassin aiming to collect the bounty on Stephanie?"

"Not sure," Bruce admits. "This is the only footage that shows her face. She evaded all of the other cameras in the club up until this point, and the exterior cameras all had their lenses obscured by some unknown white substance." He gestures to the slide he's been studying, then grimaces. "Still trying to figure out what it is, since it's our only lead at this point."

Barbara raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment on the fact that Bruce automatically assumes Tim will join him on the case. Instead, she removes the slide from the microscope and takes a big sniff. She's fairly certain she knows what it is, but it can't hurt to double-check.

"Careful," Bruce growls, and Barbara has to dance out of his reach to keep him from grabbing the slide back. "I haven't determined its makeup yet, it could be—"

"Foot powder," Barbara tells him.

"Excuse me?"

"It's foot powder. It has a very distinctive smell. After last time I'm not about to forget it."

"You've seen this sort of thing before?" Tim demands, leaning across the table to stare at her intently.

"GCPD found it on CCTV cameras all over the city after the Crime Syndicate invaded," Barbara patiently explains.

"But why take out cameras then?" Tim asks. "No one could access the feeds at the time."

"Except for Grid," Bruce says, his gaze turning thoughtful. "If someone didn't want the Crime Syndicate to know what they were doing, covering the lenses would be the more effective than turning them off. If Grid could access the feed remotely, he could have easily switched the cameras back on as well, and destroying the cameras entirely might've drawn unwanted attention."

Which has been Barbara's working theory on what exactly was going on there. Something about the Crime Syndicate seemed to shake out any number of Gotham's home-grown vigilantes. "Whatever. All I know is that Dad was just happy the stuff could be wiped off and GCPD didn't have to replace any cameras."

"A non-destructive means of incapacitating surveillance equipment," Bruce muses. "Thank you, Batgirl. This helps form a picture of what we're up against."

Later, Tim catches her arm as she's climbing onto her bike. The way his fingers dig into her biceps belie the casual air he attempts to adopt. "Hey, that was really useful, what you said about the foot powder."

"Thanks." Barbara sets her helmet aside so she can carefully pry his fingers free. "What do you want, bird boy?"

"Just, I was wondering—do you have a map of the areas where GCPD found the powder last spring? Could give an idea of this woman's usual stomping grounds." He tightens his hand reflexively before allowing her to remove it from her arm.

"I can give you a list of the city buildings it was found on, plus businesses that complained about it, but I wasn't kidding about it being all over the city," Barbara tells him a little regretfully. His idea is a good one, just not feasible in this situation.

"A list would be awesome," he insists, undaunted. "Maybe if I map them out I'll find a pattern."

"If you say so," Barbara says. "I'll send you what I have when I get home."

"Great, excellent. Thanks, Barbara." He bobs his head, looking both eager and agitated. Barbara thinks about calling him on his earlier squirrely attitude, but ultimately decides to shrug it off instead. Likely the kid's just anxious to prove himself to Bruce now that he's the only one to bear the Robin mantle and _not_ die in the line of duty.

Of course, it also couldn't hurt to keep an eye on Tim as long as Red Robin remains in the city.

* * *

The intel from Batgirl proves invaluable once Tim maps it out. She wasn't entirely correct in saying the powder was found all over the city. Once he has it all laid out in front of him it becomes obvious that the majority of affected cameras were found in two parts of the city—around Blackgate Prison and the Narrows.

Once he has it all on a map, Tim can see the outliers, the places that fall outside the two obvious epicenters. There aren't many, just a handful, but considering the locations, that's not surprising. Despite the fact that they tend to be breeding grounds for crime in Gotham (or maybe because of that), no one on either side of the law likes to pay much attention to the warehouses clustered around Gotham's docks. Criminals aren't going to complain to the cops about their cameras being vandalized and honest citizens are so used to the authorities ignoring their complaints about their less-than-upright neighbors that they gave up trying ages ago.

Of course there's always someone new to the area who doesn't know better than to try, which explains those outliers. And while it makes sense for Bruce's suspect to want to keep the Crime Syndicate out of any business she might have had around Blackgate (where surviving guards gave reports of unknown masks helping keep prisoners in line), the docks are a low-priority target. Why stick to the outskirts when chaos and a communications blackout have opened the entire city to Gotham's criminal element? It's small, but still worth checking out in Tim's mind. Particularly if he saw what he thinks he saw on the footage Bruce showed him (he can't be sure, the image was small and the lighting less than ideal, but still).

After Tim takes the time to look up city records for the warehouses in question and those around them, he's even more certain he made the right choice. There's the usual collection of fronts and shell companies in amongst the legitimate businesses. He's in the middle of crossing off those that belong to known powers in the city—Cobblepot, Kyle, Sionis—when a name catches his eye, halfway down the list. Tim's certain he's seeing things, that he must have read it wrong, but the name stays the same on each subsequent reread.

He moves to enter the relevant address in his suit's GPS, then thinks better of it, choosing to instead depend on his memory of the city alone. It's quick work to put all the files back where he found them in the city assessor's office. Minutes later, he's swinging his way across the city.

The warehouse itself looks like every other one around it—blacked-out windows set high up, peeling paint, dirty walls, nothing to label it. Tim is starting to wonder if he's made a mistake when he sees the hatch next to the door. It's half-hidden in shadow, secured with a built-in combination lock that he has to figure out the old-fashioned way, by ear.

The combination is 8-9-66. A year ago, it wouldn't have rung any bells, but then, a year ago Tim probably wouldn't have thought to single this particular building out from all the rest.

The hatch opens to reveal twelve square, black buttons. All of them blank, with no clues as to what they represent or the order they should be pressed in.

Tim pulls a cable from his gauntlet and is about to search for a place to plug it in when the small green light to the right of the buttons gives him pause. If this place is what he thinks it is, if he isn't wrong, then this is another test. He _could_ hack the lock—he's certain of that, just like he was certain of the combination earlier. But that would also be cheating and he'd probably never hear the end of it.

The buttons are arranged in three rows of four, so likely not a number pad. Though. Taking into account the green light, maybe the situation calls for a change in perspective. Tim tilts his head to the side and presses the top right button.

It lights up with a faint red glow and continues to stay lit after he removes pressure. Well, then. That makes things simpler.

Working quickly, Tim depresses the rest of the buttons in the top row, the second and fourth in the middle row, and finally the first and third in the bottom row. All the lit buttons seem to glow brighter for a moment, before going dark.

Beside Tim, the warehouse door swings forward an inch, just enough that he can pull it open the rest of the way. Tim supposes he should be concerned that it was so easy, but he's on a roll now and it's easy enough to brush off any trepidation he may feel as he steps inside the warehouse.

A hand catches the door before it can swing shut behind him.

"No wonder you boys have such a short life expectancy if you're always this eager to walk into the unknown all by your lonesome," Batgirl tells him as she eases through the door. "Lucky for you I just happen to be in the mood for some company."

* * *

The trace Barbara put on the GPS in the Red Robin suit pays off when she sees him leave his Nest for the city assessor's office and, after lingering there for some time, the Gotham docks. She doesn't know what Tim's playing at, following up on leads behind Batman's back, but she also remembers how Bruce has been since Damian's death. 'Off-the-rails' comes to mind.

She follows Tim to the warehouse district and watches with raised eyebrows as he easily tricks the lock into letting him in. Barbara is all for letting Bruce's little birds fly free, but Tim is the only one of them who hasn't ended up six feet under and she can't in good conscience let him walk alone into what could very well be a trap.

Swinging down, Barbara grabs the door just before it can slam shut behind Tim. "No wonder you boys have such a short life expectancy if you're always this eager to walk into the unknown all by your lonesome," she quips, already pushing her way in. "Lucky for you I just happen to be in the mood for some company."

To his credit, Tim barely seems to fazed by her sudden appearance, going briefly stiff before relaxing once more. "Batgirl. Have you been following me all night?"

"Pretty much, yup. Your innocent act may work on Batman, but I've spent a lifetime reading the body language of teenage boys and their avian counterparts."

Tim starts to ease the door closed behind her, then freezes, staring out into the night. "Okay, Batgirl I understand. What are _you_ doing here?" he demands, shoving the door open all the way so he can glare at a patch of shadow ten feet away.

Barbara's head snaps around to watch as a third person steps into the flickering light above the door. Aside from that initial reaction, a slight widening of the eyes is the only indication that she's just as surprised by the lurker as Tim. "Red Hood? Don't you have other redheads to chase after?"

Jason shrugs, an easy roll of the shoulders. "What can I say? Bats is still worried about you what with everything that's going on with your dad right now."

With a sigh, Tim steps aside so Jason can join them. "Did you already know about this place or did you follow Batgirl?" Tim asks as soon as Jason's inside.

"Uh, I followed Red here. Why, should I know about it? I thought you two were working some kidnapping case for B."

"Batman was supposed to retrieve a girl with unknown intel from the Egyptian nightclub yesterday evening," Barbara explains. "Someone else beat him to it and took the girl right out from under Catwoman's nose. This building may have a connection to the person who took Stephanie Brown."

"That person left a calling card behind," Tim adds. "It had a blue triangle on it."

Jason comes up short, slowly turning to fix Tim with a look. "Huh. I guess she did find you, then."

Between them, Barbara makes a frustrated noise. "How can you _both_ know about this Blue Triangle when Batman's never even heard of her before?"

Jason lets out a loud bark of laughter in response to her exasperated question. "And she doesn't have a clue. Oh, that's some kind of irony there. The blue triangle," he patiently explains, "is the symbol of an underworld information broker. Goes by the name of Oracle."

" _What._ "

* * *

Tim leaves them to it, figuring if Jason's willing to explain to Barbara about how some unknown party has laid claim to her old handle, _he_ sure as hell isn't going to stop him. Besides, he has an entire warehouse to explore, starting with the very busy dry-erase boards mounted on the nearby wall.

Once his brain registers what his eyes are seeing, Tim's throat seizes up and his mouth goes dry.

"Guys," Tim croaks when he's finally got a grip on himself once more. "Guys," he says again, louder this time in order to break through the building argument on the other side of the room, "did either of you know Dick was alive?"

* * *

_Evidence log, item #43b, Noh-Jay Consortium warehouse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should note that the combination is the (U.S.) air date of the Star Trek: TOS pilot. And that if you still haven't realized how Tim figured out which warehouse to visit, you need to watch more DS9. >.>


	9. Chapter 9

> `RedBird: Were you ever going to say anything about Nightwing being alive?`
> 
> `Oracle: It's rude to enter another person's secret base uninvited.`
> 
> `Oracle: Also, I thought you were a detective. Figured I didn't need to tell you.`
> 
> `RedBird: Not that one blurry photo is proof of anything.`
> 
> `Oracle: It's not a photo.`
> 
> `Oracle: It's a screen capture. From a video of Mr Blurry Face doing a quadruple somersault.`
> 
> `RedBird: Doesn't prove anything.`
> 
> `Oracle: It's a very distinctive somersault.`
> 
> `Oracle: Anyway, argument is moot, Nightwing is alive, you owe me for compromising my base.`
> 
> `RedBird: Is Stephanie Brown alright?`
> 
> `Oracle: Not that it's any of your business, but yes.`
> 
> `Oracle: According to my sources, at least.`
> 
> `RedBird: I know you have her.`
> 
> `Oracle: "Have" implies I've taken possession of her, which would be misleading.`
> 
> `Oracle: No one "has" Stephanie.`
> 
> `Oracle: She's a force of nature.`
> 
> `RedBird: Fine. I know she's been working with you.`
> 
> `RedBird: Her handwriting's all over that board.`
> 
> `Oracle: Don't know what you're talking about.`
> 
> `Oracle: Oh, question—what do you know about secret Batbunkers full of explosives all over the city?`
> 
> `Oracle: My other guest said they're a thing and it might just be me, but that sounds like a horrible idea.`
> 
> `Oracle: And I say this as someone who spent her formative years with a ninja and a pyro-happy sniper, so.`
> 
> `RedBird: What other guest?`
> 
> `Oracle: Btw, I wouldn't move him if I were you. He's basically a ticking time bomb waiting to blow up in your Batdad's face.`
> 
> `Oracle: Plus, like. May have given him a phobia of bat-themed women? Not sure.`

  


* * *

_"Hey, so. Uh. We found something you should probably see,"_ Red Robin says, glancing back over his shoulder in the frame of the video chat.

"Can it wait? I was about to head out." Bruce had been planning to shake down Selina's people in an effort to see if they might be able to give him something more to go on in terms of the Blue Triangle now that they've had some time to cool down. He only answered Red Robin's call when it came into the Cave in order to touch base and check to see if Batgirl's shaky lead had gone anywhere. From the troubled look Red Robin is sporting now, Bruce is guessing it has. "Who are you with? Have you found the Brown girl?"

 _"Not yet. I've been looking into the Blue Triangle with Batgirl and Red Hood. Turns out our mysterious player is probably an information broker who goes by the name Oracle. We sort of found her base of operations."_ There's some sort of commotion happening behind Red Robin, and the boy glances back over his shoulder a second time, clearly distracted.

"Trouble?" While Bruce is pleased that Jason is staying in Gotham, making the effort to work with the rest of the family, he's not entirely sure how he feels about Batgirl's continued involvement. Though calmer since her sojourn in South America, the girl's still on edge about everything that's been happening with her father. Not the most reliable of allies at the moment.

 _"No-o, I don't—"_ Red Robin breaks off, frowning. _"What_ are _you doing over there?"_ he demands of some unseen person. _"I swear, if you've touched that CPU—"_

The image on the screen shakes, and Bruce thinks he might hear a faint shout of, _'Holy cannoli! Is this the rock you've been hiding under?'_ over the speakers. Jason, probably; the exclamation has the panache of Bruce's middle son.

"Red Robin? Is there a problem?"

 _"Okay, I'm sending you the coordinates. You need to get over here ASAP,"_ Red Robin says, fingers dancing across the bottom of the screen as he types into his suit's computer.

The Cave's computer chimes softly, indicating a new message. "Is everything alright?" Bruce repeats, wanting at least some kind of reassurance before he breaks the connection. After Jason—and Dick—Damian— Bruce may not be the best at showing affection, but that doesn't mean he feels any less concern for his charges than the next father.

Red Robin lets out a bark of laughter, harsh and somewhat manic. _"Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty alright. BG and Hood just found out why no one's been able to point you towards Hush."_

Bruce's heart seizes up in his chest. If this Oracle has the Brown girl—if she's been working with _Hush_ — "What is that—"

_"Also, you probably don't deserve it, but someone told me a while back that I should cut you some slack on account of you only having a passing familiarity with how to person, so. Fair warning: We know about Dick. No one over here is particularly happy with you at the moment."_

The screen goes black before Bruce can even think of how to respond to that.

* * *

The Blue Triangle—Oracle 2.0—has an amazingly well-thought out base for someone who's managed to fly completely under Batman's radar up until now. The location leaves something to be desired—an unremarkable warehouse not far from the docks that Red Robin lets Bruce into when he arrives at the provided coordinates—but the inside shows a dedication Bruce rarely sees in Gotham's criminal element. Most of the rogues Batman battles focus on form over function, putting their chosen "theme" over any sort of convenience or efficacy.

"Alright," Bruce growls. "I'm here. What did you want to show me?" He's still not sure _why_ he's here. As anxious as Bruce is for any news on Hush, Red Robin could have easily passed any intel on that front when he called the Cave. A visit in person was hardly necessary. In truth, the only reason Bruce is going along with this is that he's more than a little curious as to why Tim and the others have suddenly decided Dick's alive.

Red Robin steps away from the door and Bruce turns to him, ready to start interrogating, when his attention is caught by a whiteboard mounted on a nearby wall. It's covered in scrawled lists, extensive charts, scribbled pictures. Simplistic renderings of Batman and his closest allies, brief profiles of Batgirl and each of the Robins, plus two unknowns. Bruce's breath catches briefly when his eyes light upon the picture labeled "Black Bat." There are many girls in the world with short black hair, though not so many that be described as being without weakness.

( _'Black Bat is better than you,'_ proclaims the final sentence, bold and black; _'BB3 (?) is finding CC,'_ scribbled next to the drawing. But it can't be her, there's no way this woman, this "Oracle" could possibly know—)

His attention is drawn away from the chart and its disturbing implications, caught by a familiar name on the next board over. This name comes at the end of a list written in a different hand than the chart—unsurprising, since evidence at the Egyptian indicated Oracle to have at least one cohort. Still, that doesn't explain, "Why is Bruce Wayne listed as an associate of the Cluemaster?"

"To be fair, someone also crossed that name out after Stephanie wrote it," Red Robin offers.

"You're certain Brown wrote this?" Red Hood asks, walking over from where he's been studying the racks of practice weapons against the far wall. He's removed his helmet but still wears a domino mask, as well as a confused frown. "Someone's definitely been using this place to train people, B," Red Hood adds, addressing Batman. "Tumbling mats, rings, bars, weapons—it's practically a low-budget Cave."

Bruce nods in acknowledgement, having already surmised as much when he first took in the main room of the warehouse. Though he knows he'll have to come back to that later (Jim was right, someone _is_ operating a team in their city, right under their noses), he's more concerned about what Red Robin just revealed. "The Brown girl was here? And cooperating with her captors?"

"Yeah, see, that's the thing." Red Robin flushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's definitely Stephanie's handwriting, she used to write all over the margins of the leaderboards at smaller meets, always had that funky 'R.' Only, look." Reaching out, Red Robin rubs at the 'e' of the crossed out 'Wayne' on the board, partially erasing it and leaving behind a ghost of the letter.

"That list has been there for a while," Bruce observes, though a part of him itches to chastise Red Robin for disturbing the scene. Not that it matters; he's already spotted three cameras since entering the building, he doubts there's any chance their visit will go unnoticed by Oracle and her associates. "Certainly longer than the time that's passed since Oracle abducted Brown."

"I don't think it was an abduction," Red Robin says. "I think it was a rescue."

"Would explain the old list," Red Hood agrees. "I thought this was a kidnapping case?"

"Among other things," Bruce says, mind racing. If Stephanie Brown has been working _with_ an unknown number of vigilantes, it would do a lot to explain how the kids that have been helping Jim got their information. Granted, if said vigilantes are also working with a self-styled information broker, that could also go far to explain things. "You mentioned you had a lead on Hush when you called?"

Red Robin spares the board a final glance, then turns and strides over to a door that likely led to an office before Oracle repurposed the space. "In here," he says, rapping once on the door. Bruce has to hand it to the kid, he's doing a good job keeping it together, despite the obvious concern he feels for his friend. "Batgirl's keeping an eye on him."

Him? Bruce doesn't get a chance to ask for elaboration before the door opens and slightly manic muttering fills the room. "He's still claiming I'm an imposter. Like I don't have enough problems with fakers back in Burnside, now I've got the criminals claiming I don't measure up? A girl could get a complex," Batgirl complains, leaning against the open door.

Glancing past her into the room, Bruce is brought up short by the odd juxtaposition to a similar scene from only a couple nights before. This time, though, there's still someone tied to the chair.

"Who's that? More of Bruce's birdies, come to gawk?" Tommy Elliot demands, blindfolded head lifting in anticipation.

"Physically, he seems fine," Batgirl says, stepping out of the room and closing the door firmly behind herself. "Psychologically... well. There're signs he may've been interrogated under the influence of fear gas."

"Poetic justice, after what he did to Alfred," Red Hood growls.

Bruce activates the comm in his cowl. "Penny-Two, have Penny-One show you how to ready the containment cell. We'll be bringing back a guest."

 _"Hush?"_ Julia asks; apparently she's found the feed for the cowl-cam and has been following along back at the Cave. _"Are you sure that's a good idea, boss?"_

"Oracle may have determined that Hush isn't behind all this, but Penny-Two has a point," Red Robin says, looking anxious and unhappy. "Hush isn't exactly what you'd call an ideal houseguest."

"He can't be left here, unguarded. And I'm not ready to take a bunch of scribbling on a board at face value," Bruce reasons.

Red Hood shrugs. "If Oracle says it's not him, I believe her. She's always given me solid intel in the past. Rarely explains herself and generally gives bullshit answers if you ask how she knows, but it's good stuff."

"You've been going to Oracle for intel? Is that wise, when you don't know who she is?"

Jason shrugs. "Well, she seems to really like telling me where I can find Ancient Evils to kill, so. I figure as long as she steers clear of giving Roy relationship advice, can't hurt anything."

Which. Just.

Sometimes Bruce really wonders where he went wrong with these kids.

* * *

Ever since Tim Drake, aka _Red Robin_ (what is his life, Cullen doesn't even know anymore), showed up around the corner at Robot Pony, Cullen has hardly seen his sister. Though, okay, Harper was AWOL a lot of the time before that, what with her super (not at all) secret crime-fighting club. Cullen would complain, but this is something that's been coming for years. Harper has always had a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to bullies, after all. Saving Batman's life last winter was just the catalyst for her to take it to the next level, something that was always going to happen anyway. If anything, Cullen's grateful for Lonnie and his friends—he's sure Harper is exercising a lot more caution in her crime-fighting because of their influence.

Still, that doesn't make Cullen feel all that much better when the city is in chaos—rioting in the streets, fires popping up like Fourth of July turned up to 11, Arkham getting swallowed by the earth after some next-level _Ghostbusters_ -type vortex shit. Just. Cullen would really like to know that his sister is alright. Unfortunately, cell reception is acting all weird (probably Prankster's fault, from what Lonnie told him the other day), so he has to get to higher ground to have any hope of getting through to Harper.

He's just cracking open the roof-access door when he hears the voices.

"—took the night off work. Which, okay, makes sense, and I feel a lot better about her being here than out in the middle of all that, but it means my place is a no-go. Sorry, guys," a distinctly familiar voice says. A voice Cullen really wasn't expecting to hear any time soon, actually. He'd figured Lonnie would be busy with Moneyspider's business until the city wasn't on fire and falling apart at the seams.

"It's fine, M. I'm sure we can figure something else out. Worst comes to worst, the place O and I have been staying at might work," another familiar voice says, and now Cullen's getting mighty suspicious, because he honestly can't think of any reason for Tam to be hanging out on the roof of his building, talking with their mutual hacktavist friend.

The third voice to speak, skin-crawlingly detached and electronic, decides him. "No. That place would draw too much attention. We'd be better off going back to base, compromised or not."

Taking a deep breath, Cullen pushes the door open all the way, trying to act as if he casually interrupts illegal vigilante meetings all the time. He takes in their colorful group with a quick glance—he recognizes Moneyspider and Flying Fox, can guess at Spoiler and Oracle from Harper and Lonnie's descriptions, but he has no idea who the blue dude with the glowing eyes is. Whatever, not important right now.

"Yo," he says, nodding a greeting. "You can use our place, if you want." Cullen tries his hardest to sound confident and sure and not at all more than a little terrified by Oracle's smooth black mask. He's not entirely sure if he succeeds.

"Excuse me," Oracle says, her (creepy blank) gaze unwavering.

"Mine and Harper's," Cullen babbles, as if that part wasn't obvious. "You need a temporary HQ, right? Now that Batman knows about the warehouse? We've got high-speed internet and I'm pretty sure Har– uh, Bluebird's hacked into Red Robin's system with her laptop." It belatedly occurs to Cullen that he's just totally blown Harper's secret identity to the whole group. Sure, only Spoiler and the new guy didn't already know it, but still. "Crap," he mutters to himself. "Rule Three."

Lonnie—Moneyspider—takes a step forward. "My associate, Duckspur," he says, gesturing to Cullen, who's really starting to second-guess his chosen internet handle. "Very trustworthy."

Flying Fox raises a hand. "I can also vouch for him. He helped me out in a bad spot during the whole Crime Syndicate invasion."

"Right, cool, cool," Spoiler says, eying Cullen suspiciously over her mask. "But are we completely ignoring the fact that he just totally referenced Rule Three?"

* * *

> **Dorkface**  
>  uuuh thnk i just outed u 2 all ur buds sry
> 
> **Dorkface**  
>  w/ever ur fault
> 
> **Dorkface**  
>  ura horbl parent
> 
> **Dorkface**  
>  (j/k luv u b safe)

  



	10. Chapter 10

All of Arkham's worst inmates loose in Gotham in the middle of a plan orchestrated by Cluemaster and an unknown number of rogues isn't quite what Cullen would call a worst case scenario, but it's pretty dang close.

Cullen watches Lonnie hook a computer up to the living room's flat screen, clutching Harper's laptop to his chest in hopes that doing so will save it from possibly meeting a similar fate. Around him, everyone else continues an argument they were apparently in the midst of having up on the roof, before Lonnie interrupted to tell them they couldn't use his place as a temporary secret base.

"The crazies are just a distraction from the real show," Spoiler insists, chewing on her thumbnail.

"Which would be what, exactly?" Tam asks, voice slightly muffled by her helmet. "We've been studying your surveillance on Cluemaster for nearly two months now and we're still not any closer to figuring out his endgame."

"I told you, Signalman and Firefly and the rest of his puzzle night buddies are supposed to do everything they can to cause riots and chaos," Spoiler says. "Everyone else is a subcontractor, people he roped in with his stupid invitations. The members of the core group are the only ones he's directed personally. They're the ones who need watching."

"Firefly means arson," Oracle says, leaning in the kitchen doorway. Cullen's giving her a wide berth; he's heard stories from both Harper and Lonnie about what Oracle can do, and Harper's told him in hushed tones that she thinks it's pretty likely Oracle's killed people in the past. "Our capture of Hush stopped his plan to explode the Bat bunkers hidden all over the city. Maybe Cluemaster's still hoping to cause some massive damage."

Spoiler makes a frustrated noise and shakes her head. "No, that doesn't—that makes no sense. Fire, explosions—those would just be more distractions. Cluemaster is, at his core, a thief. He's not like the crazies, he doesn't care about causing chaos just for the hell of it. There has to be some kind of payday, that's how he _works_."

"Maybe he's planning to pull a heist in the middle of everything," Lonnie cheerfully volunteers, not looking up from where he's enacting unholy perversions on Harper's internet router. Cullen really hopes Lonnie puts everything back the way he found it before he leaves.

"It would have to be a pretty big heist to warrant a distraction this big," Tam says doubtfully. "He started with trying to take down the police commissioner and when that failed, his efforts only escalated. Not to mention the _insane_ bounty on Stephanie, and she doesn't even know all his plans."

"Well," the blue dude, Blue Beetle, says. He shifts nervously when Lonnie and the women turn to look at him. Cullen isn't sure what the dude's doing here—he's an out-of-towner and a metahuman, two things Gotham's vigilante community isn't too keen on—but he came with Tam and the rest, so Cullen's assuming his presence is kosher. "Look, I know I'm new to the whole situation here, but does money _have_ to be this dude's goal?"

"Again, Cluemaster is a _thief_ ," Spoiler repeats, anger creeping into her voice.

The argument doesn't show any sign of stopping when a cheerful melody cuts across all the voices, peppy and upbeat. It takes a full thirty seconds for Cullen's brain to register that it's coming from his back pocket. Heart racing, he fumbles out his phone. "What's up? Are you okay?" Cullen asks, more than a little breathless from the worry choking up his throat. He hasn't heard from Harper in what feels like _days_.

 _"I need you to find Lonnie and give the phone to him,"_ Harper says without preamble, which, okay, Cullen gets. He gets that she's busy kicking butt with the big leagues, but she could at least take a second to let him know she's alright.

Whatever. He hands the phone to Lonnie without complaint, though his eyebrows do their best to climb so high on his forehead that they're basically trying to escape into his hair.

Tam sidles up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder while Lonnie turns away, speaking quickly into the phone. "Hey," she says gently. "Everything okay?"

"Dunno. Harper is supposed to just call Lonnie direct if she needs to get in touch with any of you." Because Oracle is paranoid as all get out and doesn't want the Bats to realize there's a connection between their newest recruit and their newest person of interest any sooner than is absolutely necessary.

"All of them?" Lonnie asks the phone, wedging it against his ear with his shoulder as he boots up the team's computer, pulling the keyboard into his lap. "No, we're a little behind. Dunno if you heard, but base was compromised so we're meeting at yours." Lonnie shakes his head and laughs, the sound echoing in the room. Cullen hadn't even noticed Blue Beetle and Spoiler leaving off their arguing. "Sure, if you say so. Okay, will do. What about you? Uh... just a minute, pulling it up now... 800 volts, give or take a few. Yeah, that'd do it. Alright, yeah. You too."

Lonnie ends the call and tosses the phone back to Cullen, who catches it automatically. He's shoving the phone back in his pocket when Lonnie presses something on the keyboard and a map of the city is thrown up on the TV that's acting as a monitor. Dots scattered across the representation of Gotham's streets, each of them pulsing an angry red.

"What's happening?" Oracle asks, sounding no more concerned than she did earlier, but that could just be an effect of her voice scrambler.

"According to Bluebird, Arkham's crazies and Cluemaster and his buddies were given all kinds of dangerous goodies, apparently courtesy of Bruce Wayne. Or Batman." Lonnie frowns, head tilting to the side. "She wasn't clear on that."

"It's not Wayne," Tam says, her voice full of conviction. Cullen supposes that if anyone in this crowd can speak on Wayne's character, it's her. "Or Batman," she adds after a moment. Which. Actually. Now, that Cullen thinks about it, the way those two keep being connected has to be significant, beyond one funding the other. After all, at least two of Wayne's wards have turned out to be vigilantes so far, and, now that Cullen thinks about it, Wayne's youngest is just about exactly the same size as Robin... ( _Holy crap._ )

"Well, obviously it's not Batman," Blue Beetle is saying when Cullen jerks his attention back to the conversation occurring around him and away from slightly disturbing revelations. "He's a hero."

Spoiler snorts. "Wow, have _you_ got a lot to learn about the heroes and villains in this city."

Beetle looks confused, so Cullen takes pity on him. "Catwoman's a thief and, like, a mob boss now, but she also helps out Batman sometimes. And the second Robin became Red Hood, who's sometimes a hero and sometimes a crime lord. Also possibly an interstellar terrorist?" He's not entirely sure about the last one. Though, holy crap again, didn't Wayne take in another kid between Grayson and Tim Drake? A kid that died right around the same time that Robin disappeared from the streets and a little before Red Robin showed up?

No. No, Cullen is _not_ going to think about this right now.

Tam's head snaps around and she stares at him. "What?" Cullen asks, gulping and hoping he's doing a good job covering. There's no way she can possibly know what he's thinking, right? Right. "Bluebird tells me stuff, okay." Though, alright, Harper doesn't share _all_ the gossip she picks up hanging out with the caped crowd; a lot of it Cullen has to extrapolate from obscure hints. Whatever, in Gotham it's just good strategy to keep up with these things.

"I am definitely having a talk with your sister the next time I see her," Oracle says, but she leaves it at that, so Cullen counts it as a win.

" _Anyway_ ," Lonnie says. "Bats are engaging, but Batman is out of town, talking to Ra's al Ghul about whether he's behind all this—yes, I know, O, Ra's would never outsource to inferior assassins, we've been over this _multiple_ times—so they may be a bit outclassed. Bluebird wants you to give the okay for team-ups." He gives Oracle a hopeful look, though Cullen has no idea _why_. Oracle is never going to let Lonnie hit the streets as long as he's under seventeen.

Oracle sighs. Presses her fingers to the triangle on her forehead like she has a headache. "Alright. Give us a rundown on the situation."

* * *

Tim's in the middle of tooting his own horn, bragging to Julia (who is probably not Oracle, despite the Britishness and the femaleness) over the comm when something grabs his leg, and by something he means Clayface. Which, alright, isn't completely unexpected—he _did_ come here to fight the guy—but honestly Tim hasn't let himself get grabbed that easily by Clayface since two, three months into being Red Robin. It's possible he's gotten out of the habit of dealing with Gotham's special brand of crazy, running around the planet and the timestream with the Teen Titans.

No matter. He wasn't lying when he told Julia he was looking forward to testing the gelling agent he's been developing in his spare time. A flick of the wrist and the charges are activated, releasing the gel from the capsules he threw at the start of this fight, stopping Clayface in his tracks.

Or, well. That's what was _supposed_ to happen. Maybe Tim should have spent more time on the testing phase and less time running herd on Bluebird. As it is, something goes wrong with his wings mid-glide, causing them to lose tension and collapse into nothing, leaving him open and vulnerable to a clay fist. It packs one hell of a wallop and doesn't stop there, flowing around his neck before tightening, noose-like and constricting. Crap, he is _really_ out of the habit of fighting Gotham rogues.

"So," he gasps over the open comm line, tearing at the clay, trying to get himself free, "not to panic anyone, but I could really use some—" He breaks off as Clayface jerks sideways, loosing his grip and dropping Tim. "...nevermind?" he says shakily, not that any of the other Bats on the line will notice, since they all seem to be having their own problems.

Hitting the floor, Tim rolls into a shadow, taking a moment to catch his breath and take stock of the situation while Clayface is distracted by whatever it was that made him drop Tim in the first place. Tim's vision is still a bit spotty from lack of oxygen, but a glance around a prop reveals Clayface going head to head with—a girl in a purple cloak? At least, Tim _thinks_ it's a girl—slighter build, flashes of curves revealed when her cloak flares outwards as she ducks and twirls, jumps and flips. Tim has seen Babs in action when she's in her element and it's a sight to behold, but there's also something in the way this girl moves. Babs can be poetry in motion when she wants to be, and there's something like that here. Maybe not a sonnet or a song, but definitely some elegant form of free verse.

"I'm _trying_ ," the girl shouts at some unseen person. "Well, I didn't see _you_ volunteering to fight the big clay dude." She dodges a fist, grabs the hanging bar of a lighting rig, and uses it to swing herself upwards onto the top of the scaffold. "Yeah, that would be _real_ helpful. What's your ETA?"

Clayface surges forward, collapsing the scaffolding out from under her. She recovers quickly, but not quick enough—he grabs her ankle before she can spring free. Luckily, Tim has had more than enough time to bounce back from his own encounter by now. He scrambles to the top of the giant Crocky he's been hiding behind and shoots his grapple, swinging across the room. The wings are nice, but Red Robin first took to the air long before Tim ever thought of them and he doesn't need them to fly now.

When he gets close enough, Tim grabs a handful of his fluttering wings and loops them over the top of a clay arm, pulling downwards. With no current to keep them stiff, the 'feathers' aren't as deadly as they could be, but they're still metal, and it's not like even a fully-functional wing would truly slow Clayface down. The guy can reform from pretty much any hit he takes, but no one likes to lose an arm. That it happens to be the one holding the girl's leg is a bonus, of course. Girl and leg fall free, and she hits the ground rolling.

"You okay?" Tim calls over, already shooting another line out and swinging upwards and away, out of Clayface's reach.

"I've been better. Any tricks up your sleeve?" she asks, fumbling with something on the wall she's hunkered down against. Tim hears the tinkling crash of broken glass—maybe she's beating a quick retreat? He wouldn't blame her if she was; he really did mean it when he spoke to Harper the other day about being absolutely sure before putting on a mask and choosing the vigilante lifestyle. It's definitely not for everyone and it's really hard to get out once you've jumped in.

"I'm fresh out," he admits. The gel capsules were a wash—he's still not sure if that's because his science was faulty or if whatever killed his wings and put his comm on the fritz interrupted the activation signal—blunt force is useless, and the amount of electricity it would take to effect clay is more than his suit's capable of. Right now, Tim's just trying to buy enough time for all the hostages to escape.

"Duck!" the girl shouts, and Tim ducks on instinct. He watches in surprise as Clayface is forced backwards by a jet of high-pressure water. The girl cackles, though she's barely managing to keep a grip on the firehouse she's freed from its wall case.

Impressed, Tim makes his way around the room and over to where she is. "Good thinking," he tells her when he gets there. This close he can clearly see the paper he noticed pinned to her chest earlier, fluttering as she leapt and twirled. It's a picture of the Bat, hand drawn and black, a stark contrast against the white paper.

She notices the direction of his gaze and Tim flushes, yanking his eyes up to her masked face. "Sorry. I wasn't—"

"It's to keep the cops from mistaking me for one of the crazies," she tells him. "People can be weird about unknown masks."

"Yeah, about that. Who—?"

"Will cold work on him?" she demands, shutting down his tentative query before he can really even ask it. As it is, her question throws Tim for a moment before he realizes she's talking about Clayface.

"Uh, yeah, but you'd need a lot of it and it'd have to be _really_ cold."

"Okay. Okay." He can't see her face with the full-face mask she has on, but she hesitates briefly, clearly thinking. Finally, she says, "Hold this," and shoves the hose into his hands so she can search the bag slung over her shoulder.

Tim fumbles momentarily before he manages to secure his grip. The hose is heavier and a lot more unwielding than he expected and he has new admiration for how well she handled it before. "Status check?" he asks over the comms, figuring he may as well get something done while he waits.

 _"Still dancing with Freeze. For an old dude, he's pretty spry,"_ Bluebird reports.

 _"Bane is in check, soon to be a big mechanic smear, thanks to some help from my new best friend,"_ Red Hood says. _"Anyone hear from Penny-Two?"_

 _"Handling myself fine, Red Robin,"_ Batgirl reassures him. _"Haven't heard from Penny-Two."_

Tim shoves down his worry over Julia and Alfred (they're in the Cave, they've _fine_ , they have to be), focusing on the task at hand. "Hood's not the only one making new friends," he says instead, glancing at the girl beside him. She's still focused on her bag, busy fishing out several familiar-looking capsules.

"Spoiler," she says, not glancing up. "I go by Spoiler." She taps her ear, and when she speaks again, it's clear she's talking over her own comm, no doubt to whomever she was shouting at earlier. "Could the bangs give me the same effect if I dilute him enough? Don't think we can wait for you."

 _"Sure, but I don't know how you're going to do that,"_ Bluebird says.

He doesn't even think anything of it until Hood asks, _"Who the hell are you talking to, new girl?"_

Spoiler stiffens, her head slowly turning to look at Tim over her shoulder. "Um."

Tim's eyes narrow behind his mask, but he's just barely holding Clayface at bay with a high-pressure hose, so he's really not equipped to deal with this right now. "We're definitely talking about this later," he grumbles.

Spoiler tilts her head to the side, shrugs, and nods. "I've only got four bangs, which is a shame, but they'll have to do. Your aim's pretty good, from what I remember, and it's probably just gotten better, throwing all those little batty things. Two for you, two for me. Hands."

Loathe as he is to let go of the one effective weapon they have, Spoiler doesn't really give Tim a chance to protest, kicking the hose from Tim's grip and shoving two blue, fist-sized capsules into his now-empty hands. "Are these Cluemaster's? They look like—"

"No, they're iceybangs. Way better. Give 'em a twist before throwing to activate them." Her body tenses as she readies herself to leap back into the battle, and Tim catches her arm, stopping her.

"I don't even know who you _are_ ," he says, because yeah, she might know Bluebird and she may be wearing a Bat, but she clearly drew it herself, and her equipment looks a _lot_ like Cluemaster's.

"I told you, I'm Spoiler," she says, like that really tells him anything, then shakes her arm free of his grip.

"I'm—"

"I know exactly who you are. I'd recognize that stupid little kick-flip anywhere. Believe me, you and I are going to have _words_ once Crapface is down. People thought I was a tinhatter for _years_ because of you. You _owe_ me," she snaps before shooting off a grapple of her own and taking to the air.

Tim's thoroughly confused now, but probably the best thing to do is just finish this fight and worry about everything else later. Probably.

 _"Hey,"_ Batgirl's voice breaks across the comms. _"Is it just me or did Batwing not respond to the status-check?"_


	11. Chapter 11

Spoiler and Red Robin appear to have Clayface under wraps, Flying Fox is keeping tabs on Gordon, Blue Beetle and Red Hood are bonding over the benefits of long-range weaponry with Bane, and Oracle is busy breathing down Lonnie's neck while she gets ready for an unscheduled meeting with Gotham's preeminent journalist. It's a lot of people to keep tabs on, Lonnie feels he's allowed to lose track of one Bat, especially since they're usually trying to _avoid_ the Bats.

"Batwing?" Cullen asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Mecha-armored Batman," Lonnie explains. "I think he went after Scarecrow."

"Right, right. He's the one that stole Flying Fox's name during that weird thing a couple months back where everyone thought Gotham was, like, Metropolis, but with a Bat-theme."

"It's sort of funny, actually," Lonnie admits as he logs into Red Robin's computer through Oracle's backdoor. Let's see... If Clayface got a movie studio and Bane got a giant metal suit, what did Scarecrow score from Cluemaster's unknown-benefactor-who-Tam-claims-isn't-Bruce-Wayne? "Since he's also the one who rescued Tam when she was kidnapped."

"It's even funnier when you know the whole story," Oracle says, and then refuses to give them any more, because she is a _spoilsport_. "Go ahead and hook the Bats into our network."

"Already working on it," Lonnie admits. "I did a broad-block on the signal from the Bat-base when Bluebird started having problems with her systems going dark. Figured Batgirl and the Reds could benefit also. I, uh. May have forgotten Batwing." The guy's sort-of new to the scene, it's totally not Lonnie's fault that he's not exactly memorable.

"Batgirl's relatively low-tech and should have strong enough firewalls on what she does have to keep out anything nasty. Follow up with Batwing, but no leaving the flat," Oracle tells him as she gets ready to go out the window. She glances back and adds, "That goes for both of you."

Cullen frowns. "You're not the boss of me."

 _"Listen to O,"_ Bluebird's voice says from the speakers on Harper's laptop, which Lonnie's set up to let Cullen keep an eye on his sister. _"You set a foot outside that apartment and you're grounded until you're thirty."_

"Can't ground me past eighteen," Cullen grumbles, but it's mostly drowned out by the distressing sound of Oracle's electronic not-laughter as she swings out into the city. He sighs and turns to Lonnie. "What are we gonna do about Batwing if he's not responding on comms and we can't leave the apartment?"

It's quick work for Lonnie to call up Batwing's location on his screen. He can't get a direct feed from the guy's mask the way he can with Red Robin or Bluebird and the others, but part of the push to fund and support the GCPD during the recent troubles has included expansion of the city's already-extensive CCTV system. GCPD's security has nothing on Batman's and it's child's play for the Moneyspider to get eyes on Batwing.

Lonnie gets one look at the drones Scarecrow is using to terrorize Batwing and he bursts out laughing, startling Cullen enough that the other boy nearly falls off the couch.

"What? What is it?" Cullen wants to know.

"Those are _WayneTech_ drones," Lonnie explains.

Cullen winces. "Yikes. WayneTech has ridic-tight firewalls and security protocols. Sorry, man."

Lonnie shakes his head, grinning. "Dude. I hacked WayneTech for my mom's friend when I was twelve. All our equipment comes from WayneTech. There is no part of this code I don't know intimately. This is gonna be a piece of cake."

* * *

It is possible Oracle is a better judge of character than Bruce initially gave her credit for. She's at least right in her assessment that Ra's al Ghul isn't behind Gotham's current troubles—at least, he isn't if Bruce chooses to believe Ra's on that point. As much as he dislikes the man (as angry as he is about Ra's' abduction of Damian and Talia's corpses), Bruce is willing to concede that there's a certain level of honor that Ra's insists on operating at. 'Lawful evil' is how Tim's phrased it in the past, and there's a degree of truth in that label. It is possible Bruce may need to start listening to Tim more often in general when it comes to it—Tim was right about Bluebird, and had Bruce listened to his protégés regarding the intel discovered at Oracle's base, he wouldn't have lost precious time following the red herring of Ra's.

Still, too late now to stress over that. It's past time for him to get back to Gotham, as evidenced by the way all the Batplane's systems go haywire and then shut down completely before he even makes it back to the city. He's able to steer it into a controlled crash and borrow a replacement ride from the nearby airfield, but the detour is... concerning. As is Penny-Two's sudden absence on the comm.

Even more distressing is the fact that when the comm finally crackles back to life in his cowl, it's not Penny-Two's voice he hears.

 _"Beetle, if you're done playing tag with Bane, there's rioting on Seventh Street that needs some TLC,"_ the stranger says. It sounds like a boy, teenage if the slight whine of unexpected pitch change is anything to go by, but it's not Red Robin or Red Hood. Bruce has no idea who's directing his people.

_"Spoiler, do you and RR still need an assist from Bluebird? She nearly has Freeze all wrapped up."_

_"Situation's in hand, M,"_ Red Robin says, and it's a relief to hear a familiar voice on the frequency. _"Spoiler and I worked out a fix. Batgirl? You need any help?"_

 _"With this loser? Are you kidding me? I've been wanting to take a whack this face for_ years _. It's practically therapy."_

 _"Give the freak some hits for me, BG,"_ Red Hood says, and Bruce feels the surge of warmth and pride in his chest that always these days comes whenever Jason takes the time to work with the rest of them.

_"Done and done."_

_"Sweet. Bane's down and restrained, don't get me started on the ridiculous level of firepower this kid has. Might not give him back when this is over."_

_"Sorry, already signed my summer over to Oracle,"_ another strange boy says.

 _"FF, what's the status of the Pennies?"_ a scrambler-warped voice asks.

_"Fearless leader! You live!"_

_"Can it, M. FF, report."_

_"Nearly there, had to wait for Batwing to relieve me on Gordon. How am I supposed to get into the clubhouse when I get there?"_ a female voice asks.

This is—Bruce isn't sure exactly what this is, but near as he can tell he left the country and all his people started following a teenage boy. Time to put a stop to _that_. "Batman here," he growls into the mic. "Where are Pennies-One and -Two?" Alfred and Julia _should_ be in the Cave. It's concerning that both disappeared from comms at the same time the Batplane went dead.

 _"That's what I'm trying to find out,"_ the woman identified as FF says. _"I've just about reached your stupid Man Cave, but I'll need the secret knock or whatever so I don't get blasted by an anti-cootie ray or something when I get there."_

_"It's not—"_

_"Ha! It is_ totally _a Man Cave, don't let the boys tell you otherwise,"_ Barbara crows. _"Batman, comms went screwy about fifteen minutes ago and Penny-Two went silent. Moneyspider and his friends have been helping us deal with the Arkham inmates."_

Moneyspider? What the hell is Lonnie Machin of all people doing mixed up in this? Clearly either Batman or Matches is going to have to have a talk with Greta about her son's choice of extracurricular activities when this is all over.

 _"We have a name,"_ Moneyspider says, sounding slightly put out.

 _"Don't use the name,"_ the scrambled voice says.

_"Sorry, O. The vote was four to one."_

_"Five to one,"_ a new voice chimes in, young and male.

 _"D, don't you_ dare _include yourself,"_ Row snaps.

_"Either way, it's a ridiculous name and I refuse to acknowledge it."_

_"Alright, back in business."_ Penny-Two's voice cuts across the channel, clear and authoritative. _"Sorry about that, everyone. Minor technical difficulties, partly taken care of now."_

 _"Who's this schmuck?"_ Moneyspider asks.

_"Penny-Two, good to have you back."_

_"Wait, if she's okay, am I still going to the Man Cave?"_ FF asks.

 _"Someone needs to check on the Cave,"_ Penny-Two says. _"Hush kicked me out and Penny-One is still in there with that psycho."_

 _"I told you he's an awful house guest, Red,"_ the scrambled voice says.

 _"Yes, Oracle. You were right, a locked room in a derelict warehouse was clearly more secure than a state-of-the-art holding cell in the Bat Cave,"_ Red Robin says dryly.

 _"We used a mixture of drugs and bindings,"_ Moneyspider volunteers. _"And O added her own special brand of pants-wetting terror."_

 _"If I may, Dr. Elliot has been incapacitated and returned to his cell,"_ Penny-One cuts in, and the last bit of tension leaves Bruce's body. Yes, he still has any number of unknowns jumping in on the secure band, but at least Alfred's alright. _"I will be sure to take into account your observations when updating his manner of containment."_

 _"If the Pennies are safe, I need you back in the city, FF,"_ the scrambled voice—Oracle, Bruce assumes—says.

_"Ugh, and I'm nearly there. Figures."_

_"Maybe if you climb a tall building and wave your arms, Batman will give you a lift back,"_ Moneyspider suggests.

 _"More likely he'll tell her to run home to Daddy,"_ Oracle says. _"Because double-standards are awesome and he can't even be bothered to have a girl Robin this time."_

 _"Moment of silence for Robin IV, that beautiful cinnamon roll,"_ a girl who hasn't spoken before now says.

 _"Wait,"_ the mostly-quiet 'D' says. _"Are we just totally ignoring the fact that Flying Fox knows where Batman's lair is?"_

It's a question Bruce wants answered as well, which is the only reason why he pulls in for a landing when he spots the brightly colored figure on a motorcycle. She looks just the way Jim described her, back at the start of this—all blues and pinks and violets. Muting the comm line, he pops the cockpit of the plane and meets her gaze. "Flying Fox, I presume."

Flying Fox sighs. "You know, it'd be super-cool if you didn't take me back to my dad. Oracle's right about the double-standard thing, y'know."

More fathers and daughters, Bruce observes, though from everything he found at Oracle's base, he's really starting to think that Arthur and Stephanie Brown are the subjects of Nygma's less-than-helpful clues. "I thought I'd give you a ride. And we could... chat." Plus, it's not like he knows who her father is anyway.

Yet.

* * *

When she got up this morning, Tam Fox honestly never thought her day would lead to this. Of course, she very much doubts anyone rolls out of bed with the expectation that they'll end up interrogated by Batman. Or maybe they do—she doesn't pretend to understand the minds of people like the Riddler and his peers.

"I thought I'd give you a ride," Batman says from his perch in what looks to be an honest-to-god fighter jet. "And we could... chat."

Holy hell, it's bad enough that Tam is dodging calls from Babs who wants to know the details behind the vague and regrettable voicemails Tam left back during the whole Alfred debacle; she really doesn't need her dad's boss getting all up in her business as well. "I don't think my bike will fit in there," Tam hedges, looking over the jet with a critical eye. When it comes down to it, Tam isn't sure _she'll_ fit in the plane. She's not a large woman by most standards, but Batman has to have at least a foot and as much as one, one hundred and fifty pounds on her.

"It's not really your bike now, is it?" Batman observes, which. Well. Fair enough.

"Batwing said I could borrow it. He was worried about the Pennies also." Batman has nothing to say to this, just stares her down. Tam is beginning to understand why her dad lets Wayne get away with as much bullshit as he does. Even with the cowl in the way, that look is really disconcerting.

Under that stare, Tam wilts like a flower in mid-August. She stashes the bike in some bushes on the side of the road before wordlessly climbing into the seat behind Batman. Amazingly enough, she fits with room to spare.

The cockpit closes and lights blink on as the engine hums to life and the plane rises once more. "I wanted to thank you for helping Commissioner Gordon," Batman says.

"He's a good person. He doesn't deserve to have a tragedy on his conscience," Tam says, keeping her voice soft, respectful. They never precisely determined what the point of the whole song and dance with the commissioner, the trains, and the nonexistent gun was back at the start of this, but from what Harper's skimmed from Batman's servers, there were definitely mindcontrol shenanigans going on there. "Or to have his name dragged through the mud."

Batman grunts. From what Connie's said, Batman and the commissioner consider themselves friends, so Tam's going to go out on a limb here and figure he's agreeing with her. "Oracle," he says, letting the name hang there between them.

"She's a friend," Tam says slowly, unwilling to reveal more.

"She ordered you to return."

"It's not—" Tam stops. Frowns. Tries to think of how to explain Oracle's relationship with the rest of their ragtag band. It's not really anything Tam's allowed herself to think about before. "Oracle trains us, gives us advice and direction, but she's not really _in charge_."

"Moneyspider called her 'fearless leader,'" Batman says, because of _course_ he picked up on that.

"He's the only one who does. Look, do you tell Batgirl or, like, Red Hood what to do? I'm betting you don't. You may be the pseudo-patriarch of Gotham's premier hero family, but that's probably mostly because you've been doing the mask gig longer than any of the others. Same goes for Oracle—she's been in this game the longest, so we tend to listen to her."

"We?"

"Me, Moneyspider, Spoiler, some others." Tam figures she can give him that much, since the three of them have definitely had their names linked to Oracle's at this point.

"Others like Stephanie Brown," Batman growls, and Tam remembers that the Bats seem to be honestly concerned about Stephanie's well-being. She belatedly recalls that the man under the cowl is a father, one who has a more than passing familiarity with the tragedy of losing a child, one way or another.

Tam takes pity on him. "She may have been in contact." If Batman hasn't figured out by now that Stephanie is Spoiler, far be it from her to let him know. Rule Three and all that.

"And now?"

Tam considers her options, how she could play this, what she should say. Finally, she settles on the truth. "Oracle's plan was to get her out of the city as soon as possible."

Batman ruminates on this and Tam crosses her fingers, hoping that he doesn't ask for details or specifics. She has yet to lie to him, but she's also been far from truthful when it comes to what she's chosen to imply.

Apparently, Batman's decided he's satisfied on that front, at least for now, since when he next speaks it's on a completely different track. "You know the location of the Bat Cave."

Which—seriously? Tam didn't expect him to actually _call_ it that. She has to stifle a giggle, and she's not entirely sure she's successful. "Um. Well. Not exactly? Just, y'know. Hush attacked Wayne Manor with the angle of accessing Batman's base of operations, so I figured..." Tam shrugs. "You Bats aren't the only ones who can be detectives. When O asked me to check on the Pennies, I figured I'd go to the Manor and then badger Red Robin or Red Hood into giving up the entrance."

Batman doesn't respond immediately to Tam's babbling, instead appearing completely focused on navigating the dense billows of smoke that obscure their path as they fly over the city. "While in your custody, did Hush—" He stops, grimaces. "While exposed to the gas, did he..."

"Say who you are?" Tam asks softly. "He didn't, not outright. Mostly because for him it's a point of pride that he knows at all, and while he might pee his pants in fear, he's really stubborn when it comes to his grudge against you. Look," Tam says, working a small explosive charge from one of her pouches, "if you're worried about your identity, don't be. Most people wouldn't think to connect past and present Robins to Wayne wards, despite Nightwing's big reveal. And even if they did, they still wouldn't think to follow the logic to its obvious conclusion." She presses the charge against the cockpit's hinge, easily accessed from where she's sitting.

"I'm just special, Mr. Wayne," she says, then leans forward as she detonates the charge. The resulting blast isn't large, but it's enough the blow the cockpit free, and Tam leaps from the plane as soon as the glass is clear, gliding away as Batman's still trying to regain control of plane, its flight thrown off from the shock of the explosion.

It's his own dang fault for not once asking about the 'flying' part of her name.

* * *

With everyone else occupied bringing down the bad guys and saving the day, Pru could easily go straight to crowd control or even choose to sit this one out. Excluding the Bats, she's successfully kept it on the down-low that Oracle is a player in this whole mess. Looking towards the future, it would be in her best interests to keep it that way.

Of course, Red was the one who was so keen on long-term plans and sneaky plots. Pru's always been more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of girl. She's gotten better since taking on the mantel of Oracle, but her patience can only stretch so far and all of this has dragged on for far longer than it should. Spoiler has tried multiple times since the start to undermine everything by revealing Cluemaster's plans to the world, but even with Lonnie fighting to keep her posts live and unchanged, one girl's blog has a limited scope. Not to mention people aren't too keen on trusting anonymous whistleblowers.

No, it's time to take all that they've gathered to the professionals, which would be why Oracle is here, now, perched in an open window of _The Gotham Gazette_ building. "I have a business proposition."

Vicki Vale, thorn in the side of many a vigilante, but the best Gotham has when it comes to investigative journalism, doesn't fall out of her chair, but it's a close thing. "Who—?" Startled eyes rake over Pru, finally settling on her face. "Oh. You're her, aren't you? The one who knows everything? Oracle."

It's not surprising that Vale recognizes the blue triangle—vigilantes and villains aren't the only ones Oracle provides information to, after all. Pru doesn't think she's worked with Vale before, but word gets around. "Yes."

"I'm not interested in being a part of whatever power play you want to try and pull off in the middle of this mess," Vale says, waving a hand to the window and the view it offers of Gotham. The city's evening haze is worse than usual, clogged by smoke and lit orange by whatever of Firefly's fires are still burning. "You may not have caused it, but anyone who wants to try and profit off of something like this is the worst kind of scum, in my opinion."

"Is that why you haven't published what you have? I know Bard's been giving you dirt on Commissioner Gordon and the Bat." Pru hasn't quite made up her mind yet when it comes to the most recent shiny addition to the GCPD, but Hush gave her some interesting information about Jason Bard when the man was high on fear gas and 'Batgirl' was waving pliers around in a vaguely-menacing manner. Bard was apparently Hush's choice to replace Gordon as commissioner, and while Bard seems like a mostly-honest cop, Pru's glad she and the others have so far managed to nip the smear-campaign against Gordon at the bud.

"What? God, no." Vale wrinkles her nose in distaste at the idea. "Gordon may be biased when it comes to Batman, but he's a good man, otherwise, and one unorthodox friendship isn't a reason to drag him down."

"Fair enough." There's a low boom somewhere off in the distance, and the skyline briefly flares with light. Pru can't take much longer with this, she needs to get out there before the kids get themselves killed or worse. "I'm not looking to profit. I just have some information I want disseminated. I have solid facts and data to back it up, but I can't be the one putting it out there." She digs the thumb drive out of a jacket pocket and offers it to Vale. "Are you game?"

Vale eyes the drive suspiciously. "My understanding was that you never give anything for free."

"I guess you can't believe everything you read on the internet." Pru does like getting paid for the information she provides, but she readily acknowledges (well, will admit to Lonnie when he needles hard enough) that some of it she'd be more than willing to give for nothing. Though, actually. "If it would make you feel better, you could do a favor for me in exchange."

"What kind of favor?" Vale wants to know, because she's smart enough not to shake on anything until she knows what she's agreeing to.

"Easy one. Just want you to keep your nose out of the business of Batman and his birds. Don't try to dig up dirt on them, don't try and figure out who they are. They may not always have the best methods, but they definitely have the best of intentions. Bats don't need to worry about protecting themselves from civilians as well as the crazies."

"Batman is a hot topic in this city. I can't promise that," Vale tells her, which, well. Fair enough. Pru knew it was a long shot.

She shrugs. "It's up to you. You get the info whether you agree to the favor or not. If you don't, I won't hold it against you."

"Why me? Why not someone more experienced?"

Pru chose Vale because that was who Spoiler wanted to go to with this. Because Bluebird said that Vale was willing to brave the Narrows to find out what's going on in Gotham. Because even if the woman caused Red no end of problems before the universe burped, Vale has always been akin to a dog with a bone once she gets her teeth into a story. "That piece you wrote on Cluemaster a little while back," Pru finally says. "Solid writing, good insight. Means you're already familiar with one of the main players in the current trouble."

"Wait, are you saying _Cluemaster_ is behind all this? That's insane, he's small time," Vale insists.

"Everyone has to start somewhere," Pru reminds her. She drops the drive on Vale's desk, then climbs up on the windowsill. "I'd also appreciate it if you kept Stephanie Brown's name out of it, but I understand if you can't. So does she."

Vale's still shouting questions after her as Pru leaps free of the window and swings off into the night, but Pru isn't listening. While she was talking to Vale, Penny-One was busy relaying another of Cluemaster's invitations to everyone on comms, not realizing just who that all included.

Pru flicks her mic back on. "Red Robin, please tell me Spoiler's still with you."

 _"She left a few minutes ago to help Bluebird with rescue operations,"_ Red says. _"O, I need to talk to you about her. Is she—"_

"Later, Red. Bluebird, has she made it to you?"

_"Nope, sorry. Didn't even know she was headed in my direction."_

"Moneyspider? Do you have eyes on her?" It feels like there's something squeezing Pru's chest, and she has to take a moment to pause on her way across the city. She's finding it difficult to breathe, which is ridiculous. There's no way Spoiler would be silly enough to—

 _"Oracle?"_ It takes Pru a moment to place Blue Beetle's voice. Between one thing and another, she'd actually forgotten he was even in play. _"Spoiler's headed in the opposite direction from Bluebird."_

"...Beacon Tower?" Pru asks, even though she already knows the answer.

 _"Beacon Tower,"_ Beetle confirms. Goddammit. Pru _knew_ she never should have let the girl have a longer leash.


	12. Chapter 12

The old British dude—Penny-One?—reads Cluemaster's newest invitation off of some city website over the comms, and it isn't that difficult for Stephanie to put the clues together and figure out where it's telling Batman to go. She glances at Red Robin ( _Tim_ , and don't think she's going to get over _that_ particular revelation anytime soon), but he's busy pulling kids free of a burning building and passing them on to emergency workers, not even paying attention to whatever's being said on comms.

"Hey," she calls over to him. "You seem to have a handle on this. I'm gonna to go assist Bluebird. Not as many people keen to help out in the Narrows."

Red Robin hands off the last kid and hops down from the building, walking over to her. Because he's still not anywhere near as smooth as he'd like to think that he is, he manages to smear grit and ash across his forehead when he tries to wipe away the sweat there. God. This dork. Stephanie can't believe she thought he was _dead_. "Sounds good. Do you need transpo?"

Stephanie twitches her cape away so he can see the grapple gun hooked to her belt. "Got it covered."

"Just. I've got a motorcycle stashed a couple of blocks over. If you want?" The red-orange light of the fires around them might fool someone who didn't know him as well as she does, but to Stephanie the blush is pretty obvious. Dammit. She forgot how hard it is to stay mad at him. Stupid idiot.

"That'd be great," Stephanie says, because who is she to turn down a free bike when it's offered? "Thanks."

He asks for her phone and inputs the location and passcode info for the bike when she hands it to him. Gives her a somewhat-dopey grin when she heads off, not moving until one of the kids he just rescued tugs on his stupid showgirl cape and starts asking questions.

She feels a little guilty about lying to him, but not enough to turn the lie into the truth and actually meet up with Bluebird. The invitation Penny-One found may have been written with Batman in mind, but it's also meant for her. Cluemaster is her father, her project, her nemesis. Her responsibility. If anyone's going to stop him, it's going to be Stephanie.

Red Robin's bike is fast, but not fast enough. By the time Stephanie gets to the top of Beacon Tower, Cluemaster is sprawled on the roof, a pool of blood spreading slowly around him from the gaping slash across his throat. Stephanie shifts a gun and a pile of black and grey cloth out of the way so she can kneel beside him, but when she holds the black screen of her phone to his mouth and nose, no fog obscures the glass. He's already gone.

Stephanie leans back, taking in a deep breath. It's not like she's sick with grief or anything, just. Feeling a little overwhelmed. She's never seen a dead body before, and this particular one happens to be her father.

It's a lot to process.

Once her brain has stopped buzzing and she can hear herself think again, Stephanie unlocks her phone and searches through the apps until she finds the one she wants. Her comm's still off, tucked into a belt pouch where she won't forget and accidentally give herself away to the rest of the team, but she's still going to need some help figuring out where to go from here. Hopefully, Bat-Tracker hasn't suffered as a result of Batman's awareness of the app's existence.

This time, Spoiler doesn't bother with the elevator. Instead, she unhooks her grapple from her belt and takes the fast way down the building.

* * *

Bruce really should have seen this coming. He saw the lists on the board in Oracle's warehouse, saw the reasoning behind the methodical elimination of every possible candidate, the way each one was crossed out until only one remained. Yes, Owlman _is_ still at large and, if the man truly is the son of Bruce's parents in an alternate universe, he could very well have been mistaken for Bruce Wayne by Stephanie Brown.

But Bruce also should have remembered that his own universe also has someone laying claim to the name 'Thomas Wayne, Jr.' And, from the look of the costume Lincoln March is currently wearing, he's certainly well on his way to adopting an Owlman-esque identity.

"It's time you realized there's only room for one of us in this city," March growls, lunging at Bruce. March has the advantage of having gone through at least part of the Court of Owls' Talon-conversion process—he's strong, tough, and durable—but he didn't have any of the skills or abilities the Court looked for in its Talons. If you're light on your toes, it's relatively easy to avoid a charging bull.

Unfortunately, Bruce is exhausted—from fighting the Arkham escapees, from his trip to see Ra's al Ghul, from his earlier interrogation of the still-mysterious Flying Fox, from battling Cluemaster on top of Beacon Tower, from everything that's happened since Jim first showed him Cluemaster's invitation. Bruce has been running on fumes for over a month now, he lost all his tricks and tools back at the tower, and making do as he is with a makeshift mask after Cluemaster took the cowl, he doesn't even have the reassuring sound of Alfred's voice in his ear. He's the perfect target for a raging bull.

March is almost on him, Bruce barely holding him off with metal pipe he pulled from the wreckage around them, when a brick slams into March's head, causing him to reel and stumble sideways. "What...?"

" _That's_ for killing him," a female voice snaps, and Bruce has to blink several times before he believes what he's seeing. Twenty, thirty feet away stands a girl in purple. She's already picked up another brick, and she's testing the heft of it in a gloved hand.

"Who the hell are you?" March growls, easily blocking the wild swing Bruce takes at him despite being distracted.

"Haven't you been listening to the commissioner? Thought the entire city knew by now," the girl says, and now that she mentions it, Bruce does recall hearing Jim's voice broadcast across the city while he's been fighting March. He was too focused on the battle to pay attention to the words, but he definitely noticed when Bat Signals lit up the sky. "I'm Batman."

"You're just a little girl," March sneers, stalking towards her. "You're not Batman."

The girl drops the brick and reaches behind her, pulling out something that's been tucked in her belt. "No," she agrees, clicking off the safety and leveling a gun at March's head. Bruce can't be certain, but he thinks it might be the same one Cluemaster was waving around up on the roof of Beacon Tower. "I'm not."

Bruce staggers to his feet, but he knows he won't– can't make it in time to stop her from pulling the trigger. March may or may not be his brother, may or may not have the ability that Talons have to recover from any injury—none of that matters, because right now Bruce has to stop this girl before she makes a mistake she'll regret for the rest of her life.

"Spoiler," an inhuman voice shouts, ringing out across the square. A bike skids to a stop a few feet away and a figure dressed all in blacks and greys leaps from it, running towards the girl. "Spoiler, put down the gun. Remember Rule One." It's hard to tell from this distance, but Bruce thinks there might be a blue triangle on the forehead of the new arrival.

"He killed him! He helped Cluemaster all this time and then he killed him! I found his _body_ , O," the girl, Spoiler, cries. "Screw Rule One, anyway. It's not like you even follow it."

"I do now. Killing him won't bring Cluemaster back, won't make anything better. All it will do is make you a murderer."

"Who the hell _are_ you people," March wants to know, because he's always been an egoist, has never been able to handle the possibility that the world doesn't revolve around him.

"Like Gordon said," the woman in black says, "we're Batman." She takes the gun from Spoiler's hand, tilts her head to the side, then turns and calmly shoots out both of March's knees.

" _Oracle_ ," a scandalized Flying Fox squeaks, and Bruce starts, because between one blink and the next any number of people have stepped over the wreckage and into view—Flying Fox, Red Robin, Bluebird, Red Hood, Batgirl, Jim Gordon—friends and family and allies and more than a few unfamiliar faces. "You can't _shoot_ the big bad!"

"Why not? It's not like he won't heal—pretty sure he's one of those Talon guys, and murderchild had to take the head off one of them before it even slowed down."

March scrabbles at his suit, no doubt intent on pulling some trick to escape the sudden ambush, but Bruce quickly kicks his hand free and puts a foot on his wrist, pinning it to the ground. Beside him, he sees the woman in black do the same to March's other arm. "Oracle, I presume?" Bruce asks under the din that erupts around them as everyone demands at once to know what's going on. It's a logical conclusion, between the mask and the voice. The way the other girl, Spoiler, deferred to her. The way Oracle handled the gun, with precision, accuracy, and absolutely no sign of remorse definitely recalls the deadly efficiency of the woman from the security footage of the Egyptian.

The smooth black face turns to look at him, dipping slightly. Not a yes, but not a no, either. "Batman," she says, the voice flat and digital.

"Rule One?" he asks, because he remembers the paper they found in the warehouse, remembers that some of rules on it seemed oddly specific.

"The Rules were taught to me by a friend," she says. "Someone who had been in this game a lot longer than either of us." The same language Flying Fox used, referring to the dance of vigilante and villain as a game while at the same time deferring to one with more experience.

"And you always follow those rules?"

"I was in a bad place when I met my friend." Oracle glances at the crowd of people picking their way across the rubble towards them. At the unknown teen in blue (is that Blue Beetle?) giving Black Canary a hand down; at Flying Fox comforting the still-distraught Spoiler, Red Robin hurrying over to help; at Batwing chatting companionably with Jim, Batgirl glancing over, biting her lip. "I'm not, now. A lot of that's because of what I learned from him." Then she turns and waves a hand at Blue Beetle, beckoning him over, no doubt figuring to use another metahuman to help secure this one.

It doesn't escape Bruce that she never actually answered his question.

* * *

Sometime while Lincoln March is being taken into custody and Bruce is struggling to explain to Jim exactly what happened atop Beacon Tower, Oracle and the other unknown masks disappear into the night. Bruce would be upset—even if the immediate threats to her life have been taken care of between one thing and another, Stephanie Brown is still missing, theoretically in Oracle's custody—but he has a pretty good idea of where he can find at least one of Oracle's people. If he's right, the situation shouldn't take too long to resolve.

A glance inside the building shows two boys wearing headsets and, with a start, Bruce realizes he recognizes not just one, but both of them. Still, he doesn't let his surprise slow him down, and he eases the window open, silently letting himself in. The room is small enough that there aren't any shadows for him to hide in, but the boys are so completely focused on whatever it is they're doing that several minutes pass before one of them glances in Bruce's direction and promptly falls off the couch.

"Holy crap, you aren't Harper," Cullen Row says from where he's sprawled on the floor, tangled up in various cords.

"No," Bruce says, frowning slightly. That the boy apparently mistook Batman for his sister is somewhat reassuring; Bruce still intends to talk to Bluebird about the lax security on her home. He's here for other reasons now, though. "Lonnie," Batman growls, his gaze snapping to boy still on the couch. "We need to talk."

Lonnie Machin squeaks, fumbling with the game controller in his hands before finally dropping it. "I haven't done anything! Not recently, I mean. Not since that thing with Matches, I _swear_."

"What the hell, Lonnie?" Cullen demands of his friend. Bruce should probably take this conversation outside, but according to Red Robin, Cullen is just as aware of the going-ons of Gotham's nightlife as his sister. And while things are settling down now that Cluemaster's plans have effectively been neutralized, Gotham's streets still aren't the best place for a child to be at the moment.

"Told you I knew Batman," Lonnie grumbles. "He totally busted me back when Moneyspider was still fighting the good fight, defending the little people. Which he doesn't do anymore, so I don't know why Batman's here. Or how he even _found_ me."

"I asked your mother. She's very concerned that you're back to your old ways, Lonnie." Despite the big eyes, Bruce doesn't believe Lonnie's protestations of innocence for even a moment. At twelve, Lonnie was a precocious child, breaking into Wayne Enterprises' mainframe with the greatest of ease. Bruce doesn't doubt that Lonnie at fifteen is capable of much, much more.

"I told you that was going to come back to bite you, bro," Cullen says, untangling himself from his nest of cables and climbing back up onto the couch. He turns to Bruce and glares. "I don't know what you think he's done, but Lonnie's been here all night. We're doing a quest with friends in Australia."

" _Someone_ was using the Moneyspider name tonight," Bruce says. The boys may very well have an alibi, but Bruce knows boys, especially precocious fifteen-year-olds. After three of them, he's gotten pretty good at knowing when one's hiding something.

"Well, duh, of course," Lonnie says, rolling his eyes. "Not gonna change my handle just because you've got me on a short leash. Do you know how many Achievements Moneyspider's racked up? It's a lot, just so you know."

"Outside of your game," Bruce clarifies, undeterred.

Lonnie huffs and shakes his head. "Wasn't me. Like Cullen said, we've been questing in _Fighting & Factions_ the whole night."

Dammit, Bruce doesn't have the time to dance in circles with these children. "Lonnie, there's a missing girl who—"

"Hold up," Cullen says. "Is this about Stephanie Brown? Because, _dude_. If Catwoman can't hold onto her, what could _we_ possibly do?"

"Catwoman?" Lonnie asks.

"I'll tell you later. Anyway, can we get back to our game?"

"If we aren't dead," Lonnie grumbles, groping around on the floor for his controller. "Aussies are never gonna let us play with them again."

"If you see my sister, tell her we're out of milk," Cullen says, toggling a switch on his headset. "Hey, guys, sorry. Bat flew in the window and we had to make sure it got out okay." He waves at Bruce and raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly at the still-open window.

Though he doesn't like it, Bruce is clearly being dismissed, and he very much doubts he'll be getting anything else from the boys today. With a flare of his cape, Batman leaves.

Bruce makes it three blocks before calling Tim. "Have you heard of something called 'Fighting & Factions'?"

Tim takes his time replying, but when he does, he tells Bruce, _"Popular fantasy-based MMORPG. What about it?"_

"Is there any way to check when a specific player has been logged in and active?" Lonnie and his friend claim to have been playing all night, but Bruce would like outside confirmation of that before he starts searching for a possible new user of the Moneyspider name.

_"I can try. Who'm I looking up?"_

"I want to know if anyone going by 'Moneyspider' has been active in the past 24 hours and if so for how long and at what times," Bruce says.

 _"Just looking up that name or d'you want me to look at Lonnie Machin in particular?"_ Tim asks, which throws Bruce for a loop until he remembers Tim's habit of running everyone through the Cave's computer.

"Both, if you can," Bruce says, because the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders if the boy who visited Jim Gordon's office two months back couldn't be Lonnie. Jim wasn't able to give much in the way of distinguishing features, but teen, male, and hacker could all describe Lonnie.

 _"Right,"_ Tim says with a yawn, and it occurs to Bruce that it must be getting fairly late, that March's defeat and subsequent capture happened hours ago. _"I'll see what I can find."_


	13. Chapter 13

Tam wants her to wait at least a day or three before getting back in the swing of things, but Pru knows how Bats operate—always going, rarely stopping, powering through exhaustion and injuries like nobody's business. She just doesn't have the time to sit back and relax, not when there's work to be done.

Instead of heading back to Luke Fox's place after the ersatz Owlman is hauled away and the the second shift finally shows up (and Red will probably nag at her about that later, complain about Oracle having Flying Fox call in the Teen Titans to help with rescue operations, but screw him—what's the point in having friends if you never ask for help?), she slips the Bat set to tail her and sets her sights on the Noh-Jay warehouse.

Her car is still in the parking garage Tam stashed it in after her haphazard rescue of Alfred Pennyworth last week. Red still hasn't caved to Tam's nagging that he fix her roommate's car, but most of the damage is superficial and cosmetic, so Pru figures she's good to drive it to the warehouse and fill it with as much stuff as possible.

The whiteboards, tumbling mats, parallel bars, weapons racks—all of them are too big and bulky to fit in Pru's Completely Average sedan. Instead, she fills the trunk with practice weapons, the backseat with computer equipment, and the passenger seat with as much of Bluebird's toy cabinet as she can manage. Pru is screwed if any cop pulls her over, but tonight (this morning, now) Gotham's police have their hands full with other, much more pressing matters. She should be fine.

When she can't possibly fit another iceybang capsule or can of foot powder in the car, Pru heads out. She considers torching the warehouse behind her, but in the end decides against it. The city has seen enough damage tonight, and she can probably convince Red to bury any truly telling evidence left behind.

Speaking of.

Pru unmutes her comm, switching to the channel that's been beeping at her for past few minutes. "What's up, Red? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

_"Just about to go do that."_ Red sounds jittery, which is nothing unusual, especially considering the night he's had. _"Look. Uh. Is Moneyspider—Lonnie Machin—is he one of your people?"_

"Red, you know I can neither confirm nor deny any affiliation between myself and—"

_"Because_ someone _was using the Moneyspider name on comms tonight. Batman paid Machin a visit after you left earlier and just now he had me checking the kid's alibi,"_ Red says, sounding increasingly more and more agitated. _"Pretty sure I steered him clear and covered your guy's tracks, but."_

Crap. Pru totally forgot Lonnie had a history with Batman. She'd really hoped he'd agree to changing his _nom de guerre_ before it could ever be an issue, but Lonnie has proven incredibly stubborn on that point. "I'm listening."

_"I'll keep covering for you, O, you know I will,"_ Red says, which is reassuring. Yes, he's mentioned being willing to go the distance for her in the past, but in all honesty Pru never expected him to hold to it should push come to shove, and by shove she means Batman.

Still, there's something in Red's tone that makes her more than a little leery. "I'm sensing a 'but' here."

_"I'll cover for you, for Moneyspider,"_ Red repeats. _"Just, I have to know—is Steph okay?"_

"You really think I'd hurt her? We've been over this before, Red." Pru seriously needs to interrogate Stephanie next time she gets a chance—this level of concern plus Stephanie's reaction when when she realized Red Robin's identity (which is another thing Pru can't figure out) is worrying.

_"No, no, I get that. But a lot happened tonight, and. Just."_

Pru's almost at her destination now, the half-hidden entrance to an abandoned subway station. The Bats may have fixed the relay issue with their comms to let them work underground, but Oracle's tech expert has been busy chasing after Red for the last month and hasn't had a chance to tackle the problem. "Hurry it up, Red. Some of us have things to do."

_"She nearly shot Lincoln March tonight,"_ Red says in a rush. _"Her dad had his throat cut. She_ found his body _, O."_

Pru freezes in the middle of opening her trunk. "Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

_"Spoiler uses capsules that are nearly identical to Cluemaster's, she recognized the way I kicked, she said I owe her for making people think she's crazy. I_ am _a detective."_

There are many parts of that statement that Pru would love to know more about, but right now she really needs to get all of this very questionable equipment out of her car before a cop, criminal, or rioter comes by. She just doesn't have the time to hold Red's hand right now. "Stephanie Brown is with friends. Last I heard, she's fine. I can't comment on the rest."

_"Invoking Rule Three?"_

"Get some sleep, Red," Pru tells him before disconnecting the line. The filter hid the affection that crept into her voice when she spoke, but she can't keep the smile off her face as she unloads the car. It's been a long year of uphill battles, but sometimes she can almost hear the old Red in this one.

* * *

Lonnie waits until Batman's been gone for several minutes before he sets down his controller and pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen. A red light blinks at him and he sighs, rising and walking over to the window. A quick feel under the sill produces a tiny listening device, one that's simple enough that he can disarm it by just popping the battery. He'll rewire it later and add it to the team's stash; Spoiler's surveillance spree has really put a dent in their resources.

His phone blinks green when he runs the BugFinder app a second time, and he gives Cullen a thumbs up. "Okay, we're clear. Sorry about that, I honestly didn't expect him to even remember me."

Spoiler peeks out of Harper's bedroom, then comes the rest of the way into the room when she sees the coast is clear. "How the hell did you end up on Batman's radar?"

"I have a criminal past."

"He hacked stuff he shouldn't've a few years back," Cullen elaborates.

"I still do that," Lonnie protests. "I just got caught the one time. Bats let me off with a warning."

"Yeah," Stephanie says, tugging off first one mask, then the second. "He does that."

"So I'm thinking maybe it's not the best idea for you to stay here," Cullen says, frowning. "Not if Bats and Birds are going to be stopping by all the time and you want to keep a low profile."

"Technically, he was looking for me," Lonnie reminds him.

"Yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of Harper. You know she's not gonna cut ties with Red Robin until she's learned everything she can from him."

"Ugh." Stephanie wrinkles her nose. "Don't even mention him. I'm still angry I didn't figure it out sooner."

"One of these days someone's going to explain to me how everyone except me, the information retrieval specialist, knows who all the Bats are," Lonnie grumbles. Even _Cullen_ knows now, which is so not right. Guy's been doing this for less than 24 hours.

"We can't help it if you're not as tuned into the city as the rest of us," Stephanie says, grabbing her backpack and the paper bag for her costume from where she stashed them in the bedroom. She glances at the bag, grimacing slightly. "I feel like I should have a better hiding spot."

"Seriously, my mom won't even care. She just sent _Batman_ after me," Lonnie says, flopping back on the couch and flinging an arm over his face. He still can't believe his mom did that. Whatever happened to loyalty and trust?

"Greta's cool," Cullen volunteers. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

* * *

Loud voices drag Pru from the depths of sleep way sooner than she'd like. Considering what time it was that she finally let herself in through Luke's bedroom window this morning, that she remembers to check Connie's wig in the mirror before stumbling out of the room to investigate is amazing.

"—between this whole mess and what happened to you and Tiffany, I feel like I need to take a break for a while. I've been coming up with some neat stuff to help me with all of this and a lot of it could be repurposed to help civilians." Luke is leaning against the counter in his flat's small kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and looking way too introspective for ass-o'-clock in the morning.

"That's great, Luke. I'm really happy for you," Tam says over her own mug. Glancing in Pru's direction, a smile breaks across her face. "Look, it lives! Hey, sleepy-head."

Pru just barely restrains from hissing at both Fox siblings. "Ugh, what time is it?"

"Nearly noon," Luke says. "We're all off to a late start today, though Rory was up and out of here hours ago—his mom's place is near the Narrows and he wanted to check up on her, help her box stuff up if her building wasn't safe to stay in."

"Connie was out late helping some friends move to a safer location," Tam volunteers for no good reason.

Pru tries to shoot her a subtle glare, but the effect is ruined by an involuntary yawn. "Last night was _crazy_ ; I swear half the city was on fire. Is Gotham always like this? Tam's told me stories, but I never thought they were _true_."

"Pretty much, to different degrees," Luke says as Tam fills a mug with coffee and passes it to Pru. "Usually there are more chemical attacks and fewer fires, but the city goes through phases."

Pru starts to reply with a snide remark about Gotham being a prime setting for a disaster movie when the flat's doorbell interrupts her. "Expecting anyone?" she asks, more than a little surprised that a bachelor pad like this one even has a working bell.

"Rory probably forgot his keys again," Luke says with a sigh, squeezing past Pru on his way to the door.

As soon as he's left the kitchen, Pru raises an eyebrow at Tam. "Helping friends move? At five in the morning? Really?"

Tam shrugs. "Hey, it was the only thing I could think of on such short notice. It's your own fault for getting in after him."

Pru's ready to argue this point—she came back through the window, there's no reason for Tam to even need to explain that Connie didn't get back until the wee hours—but Tam is saved by Luke. "Door's for you two," he calls over, his voice sounding oddly strained.

While there are plenty of people in Gotham who know Tam, there are far fewer who know Connie Abernathy, and next to none that should know both women are currently bunking at Luke's. Pru and Tam exchange anxious looks before setting down their respective mugs and stepping into the living room.

"He says he knows you," Luke says, moving aside so Jaime can wave awkwardly at them from the doorway.

He looks every inch of his sixteen years and Pru can see why Luke might think it strange that this kid has shown up looking for Luke's adult sister and her friend. "I know him," Pru allows. Doesn't offer any kind of explanation because there really isn't one for why Connie would know this kid. "What are you doing here, Jaime?"

"Sorry for bothering you," Jaime says. "Khaji Da told me where we could find you."

"Obviously," Pru says, trying to keep her voice level. She can't believe Jaime came here, she made it very clear when they arranged all this that they were to keep their distance when out of the mask as much as possible for security reasons.

Jaime wrings his hands, shifting nervously. "It's just. I did a quick search after we broke up last night? And I think I found what you're looking for. Figured you'd want to know asap."

Oh, well. In that case. "Let me just finish my coffee and get dressed," Pru says, practically skipping on her way back to the kitchen. It's about _time_ , dammit.

* * *

When Stephanie tries to pay for her order, the barista waves her off. "The guy over there already covered you," he says, grinning and gesturing to the back of the Sundollars. A kid in a too-large flannel shirt is hunched over a ridiculously huge coffee; she didn't even know Sundollars had a size beyond large.

Steph narrows her eyes at that messy mop of hair. "Oh he did, did he?"

"Said he wanted to pay for 'the double low-fat no whip caramel macchiato in the purple hoodie,'" the barista tells her.

"It's eggplant," Stephanie mutters, glaring harder the hunched figure. She can't _believe_ this is happening.

The barista still hasn't stopped smiling as he mixes her order and now that's getting on her nerves, too. "He said you'd say that."

Stephanie lets loose a frustrated growl and considers snubbing the freebie and just leaving. She doesn't, but only because cash has been tight since moving in with the Machins and she has to get her perks somewhere. Plus, she really needs the caffeine.

Drink in hand, Stephanie stalks over. She should ignore him, pretend he isn't there, but this is getting out of hand and she has to draw the line somewhere. "Going back to your stalking ways?" The boy just grunts vaguely, not even lifting his head, which prompts Stephanie glare even harder. "I ought to dump this over your head."

This at least causes the slumped pile of plaid and shaggy hair to stir. "Excuse me?"

Stephanie grabs the chair across from him and plops herself down, not about to let him out of her sight now that she's got him pinned. "Cute. Pro-tip: If you don't want someone to pick up on you tailing them, try changing your clothes sometimes. And maybe don't dress like a refugee from the nineties in the first place."

Tim sighs, shifts. "Kinda figured you'd rather not make face-to-face contact. Seems to be your boss's M.O."

"Who?" Stephanie leans back in her seat, takes a long, slow sip of her own drink. From the way he reacted the other night and what Oracle's relayed about her later conversation with him, Stephanie figured Tim had guessed what she's up to, but hell if she's going to admit to it if she doesn't have to.

"I mean, the big man thinks you've left the city." Tim glances up, eyes raking over her through his bangs. "Nice hair. Wig?"

Stephanie automatically reaches up to touch the short brown curls currently framing her face. "Some of us realize the advantage of changing how we look when we've had professional killers after us. Of course, some of us also don't feel the need to fake our deaths after committing a monumental screw-up."

He ducks his head slightly, then lifts it all the way to finally look her in the eye. "Alright, I deserved that."

"Yes," Steph says, studying him right on back, "you did." It's been over two years since she last saw him up close and personal like this, but Tim doesn't look all that different—he's lost the last of the baby fat that used to cling to his jaw and cheeks, but the shadows under his eyes have only grown darker with time. "You look like crap."

"Late nights and stress tend to do that. Sorry about your dad."

"He was trying to have me killed."

"He was still your dad."

"Yes." She hasn't really processed finding Cluemaster's body yet, is mostly trying to forget about it. Lonnie's friend at the clinic who's been helping them with the legal side of her moving in with the Machins wants her to talk to a counselor, but Stephanie keeps brushing her off and so far Dr. Thompkins hasn't pressed. "I saw the news back when your house got wrecked. Are your parents actually—"

"They're fine," Tim says quickly. "I hid them outside the city after the attack and set up new lives for them. Figured it was the safest way to go, and I owed them after I messed up. Bruce wanted me to go too, but..."

"I'm not leaving," Stephanie says. "It's my city too, not just yours. Or his."

Tim snorts into his cup. "I'm not about to try and stop you—any of you. I don't think he should either."

Which is—surprising. From everything Oracle's said on the subject, Stephanie figured the reason Oracle's so keen on their keeping off the radar of the Bat and his people is that they'll try to shut down the team. But Oracle's also always seemed to think that Red Robin is some sort of special exception to all that. "...she said you were covering for Lonnie," Stephanie says, more than a little cautious about broaching the topic so openly.

"And Harper. Unless you want to deny that's who you were talking to the other night."

"I don't know what you mean," Stephanie says, smiling to herself. It'd been good, fighting side-by-side with Red Robin. More than that, it had felt _right_.

"If you want to keep what you're doing a secret, maybe don't crib from your dad's tech so much," Tim quips, but he's smiling as well, now.

"The bangs are pretty cool, right? I've been thinking about doing a whole range of them. Lonnie and I've been poking at one of your dud gelling capsules and we think we've figured out goopybangs," Stephanie tells him, her cheeks flushing with excitement. "He doesn't really understand the chemistry part, and he's not as good at the electrical as Harper, but he's got some good ideas. Or, in this case, _goo_ ideas."

"Geez," Tim says with a laugh. "How did she even _find_ you guys? You're all pretty much prime candidates for—all of this."

Stephanie hesitates. Oracle's pretty adamant about the importance of everyone getting to reveal themselves on their own schedule. But Rule Three is specifically about identity, and it's not like Stephanie even knows who Oracle is. "Almost like she already knew ahead of time who to tap," she says.

Tim frowns, looking thoughtful. "She's always talking about—my other friends like she's known them for years."

"Or," Steph says carefully, "like you have." She isn't sure how much she believes Tam's claims about alternate timelines and wonky universes, but. But there are things about the world that feel... familiar. Not deja vu, but... Like muscle memory. Stephanie may not remember, but her body keeps acting like it's falling into old patterns, familiar routines. (Swinging across the city and unconsciously finding herself gravitating towards the streets surrounding Gotham University, going through them in a carefully formulated patrol grid that seems like second nature to her.)

Tim goes still, staring at her. "What do you mean."

"Well," Stephanie says, swirling her cup thoughtfully before setting it on the table and leaning in conspiratorially. "Ever heard of multiversal redundancy?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking the next story will bring this 'verse up to Rebirth and complete the series? Not sure, nothing is in stone, but it feels like that would be a good stopping point.
> 
> There were lots of scenes/ideas that didn't make the cut for this fic! I'm pretty fond of some of them and there's a high chance I'll post a few to tumblr in the near future. If you're interested in those or the headcanons I have for this AU, I'm on tumblr over at themandylion.tumblr.com. I'm still learning the whole tumblr thing after dragging my feet with it for a long time and while I'm not the best at posting, I'm getting better!


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